


Tara Firma Part 3

by RedxxWolf



Series: Tara Firma [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Drama & Romance, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Ghoul Sex, Past Abortion, Porn With Plot, Romance, Smut, i want to apologize for turning this into a lifetime movie forgive me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-28 14:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedxxWolf/pseuds/RedxxWolf
Summary: The last installment of the Tara Firma series.******Update, 2/13/18:  The muses have pulled me in a different direction.  I have begun an original work which I will be publishing on this site.  This series is temporarily on hiatus*******





	1. Concord

“Look at the size of this thing!”

 

Scarlet twisted the band on her finger, still trying to overcome her amazement at the grandeur of the engagement ring Hancock had given her. The cut of the ruby was exquisite, and it caught every bit of the Commonwealth sunlight that beat down over their heads.

 

“It's somethin', ain't it?”

 

The ghoul adjusted his tricorn and cast his gaze toward the horizon. She wasn't sure, but Scarlet was almost certain she noticed him puffing up his chest as he spoke.

 

“I mean it's beautiful,” she began, her voice carrying an irresolute lilt, “but... I don't know. I mean, it must have been expensive.”

 

“Yeah, you ain't kiddin'.” he said, a boastful smile playing across his lips.

 

“You really shouldn't have,” she chided.

 

“What do you mean?” he snickered, inching closer as they walked. “Don't you like it?”

 

“Of course I do!” she said, smirking incredulously. “That's not what I mean.”

 

“What's wrong with it, then?”

 

“Nothing's wrong with it, it's just...” Scarlet let her hands fall to her sides and tossed her head back in frustration. “Do you know how much ammo you could have bought instead?”

 

“Bahaha!” Hancock could barely keep walking as he roared with laughter. He stumbled to one side and then the other as he tried to catch his breath, then rubbed his eyes as he finally regained his composure. “Fucking hell, Sunshine, what did you want me to do? Ask you to marry me carrying a bouquet of fusion cells?”

 

Scarlet carried on, rolling her eyes at his outburst. “Well you didn't have to go _this_ far. I mean, a regular old wedding band would have sufficed.”

 

“You think the mayor of Goodneighbor is gonna settle for some cheap piece of metal from a gumball machine?” He strode along right next to her, so close that the edges of his coat brushed against her in a way that made her tingle. Then he bent his mouth to her ear, letting the heat of his breath caress her. “Nothing but the best for my bride-to-be,” he said lowly.

 

Responding to the suggestiveness of his tone, the fine hairs on the back of Scarlet's neck stood at attention. Her breath caught in her throat and her cheeks flushed as a thrill of passion ran to her center. They hadn't engaged in any intimate activity for what seemed like ages. Scarlet had bled for a week after terminating her pregnancy, and wasn't in the mood to fool around during her recovery. She was still in some pain off and on, and the med-ex she took to manage it made her groggy and disoriented. At least it helped to quell the discomfort long enough for her to sleep. And it was kind of nice, being stoned enough to forget the event that had caused her agony in the first place. Even though she felt firm in her decision, she still harbored an uneasy amount of guilt that nagged at her incessantly.

 

Shortly after she had recuperated to her satisfaction, Scarlet was ready to move forward with her mission to find Shaun. The Glowing Sea was their target, but she still needed some kind of protection before being exposed to the constant radiation. Hancock was dubious about finding a hazmat suit in the Commonwealth; even in a place like Diamond city, they weren't likely to find anything, at least nothing in decent enough condition to withstand the Glowing Sea.

 

_“_ _For something like that, your best bet would be going to a vault.”_

 

With that, she immediately set her cross-hairs on vault 111. She hadn't gotten much time to explore it during her initial escape, and it seemed to be in a pretty isolated area of the Commonwealth. Hancock admitted he hadn't heard of it until she showed up in Goodneighbor. Chances were solid that it was still a decent place to find some pre-war gear, including radiation suits.

 

But as they trekked northwest across the wasteland, getting closer and closer to Sanctuary Hills, a nervous ball was forming in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to scour through her old home. And when she did, she was unsure of the effect reawakening those memories would have on her. It had only been a few months since she had awoken from her cryogenic sleep, after all, and the wounds of her flight to and from the vault were still fresh.

 

“I still don't know why we couldn't just get married before we left Goodneighbor.”

 

Scarlet almost jumped at the sound of Hancock's voice pulling her out of her thoughts. The mayor didn't see the need to wait to get married after their engagement. And being the mayor, he was tickled by the idea that he would be able to perform the ceremony himself. Not a lot of people in this day and age were inclined to get hitched to begin with, let alone in a den of lewd activity like Goodneighbor. He had never actually presided over a wedding before.

 

Scarlet clucked her tongue. “The first time I got married was in a courthouse, wearing the black dress I would wear to funerals, with nothing but the court stenographer as a witness. If we're gonna do this, I want it to be something more meaningful.”

 

He grunted in agreement. “Fair enough. Just don't keep a ghoul waiting too long,” he grinned.

 

It was just about noon as the couple approached Concord. If they kept up their pace, they'd be able to reach Sanctuary Hills well before nightfall.

 

“There's the Museum of Freedom!” she said, pointing excitedly to the stone and brick structure at the edge of town. There was a chunk missing from the rooftop, but it otherwise looked to be in pretty good shape compared to the rest of Concord. “Maybe we can go take a look. I always loved that place as a kid.”

 

Hancock rubbed his hand along the back of his head, taking care not to upset his hat. “Eh... I'd rather we didn't, Sunshine. In fact, we should probably steer clear of the city altogether. Place is probably crawling with raiders.”

 

Scarlet slowed to a halt, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes with a frown. “I thought you said it was safer the farther north we got from Boston.”

 

Hancock stopped in front of her, turning around with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, well, that doesn't mean we should tempt fate.”

 

“What's this?” she mocked, sauntering toward him. “Don't tell me you're scared.”

 

“Scared?” The ghoul put his hands on his hips and threw his shoulders back. “Sunshine, I ain't scared of shit.”

 

“Then what's the problem?”

 

“The problem is that we're a day's walk from the nearest settlement with nothin' but a handful of stimpacks if you get hurt.”

 

“What? You don't think I can handle myself?”

 

Hancock flicked the front corner of his hat up and crossed his arms, eying her suspiciously. “What's gotten into you now?” he said playfully. “You wake up this morning with a new pair of balls?”

 

“Maybe I'm discovering my sense of adventure.” With an uncharacteristic wink, Scarlet drew the laser pistol from her holster, flipping the switch on the barrel as she raised it. “C'mon. Let's go check out the museum.” She wore a haughty grin as she began swaggering toward the ruins of Concord, swaying her hips as she walked.

 

“Alright then.” Hancock chuckled and pulled his shotgun from his hip, cocking it noisily. “Ladies first.”

 

He trailed after her from a short distance, keeping his senses alert as they neared the museum. He was impressed with her gumption, but he couldn't help feeling on edge, like there was something terrible waiting for them in those ruins. All was quiet, however, while the made their way ever-closer to their destination.

 

Too quiet. Eerily quiet.

 

They had almost made it to the Museum of Freedom when a frag grenade exploded at the building's entrance, followed by the deafening echos of gunfire in the stifling mid-day air.

 

Hancock seized Scarlet by the arm and sprinted with her into the dilapidated church nearby. He crouched just inside the entrance, pulling her down with him.

 

“What the hell?” she whispered, gasping for breath.

 

“I told ya there would be raiders,” he said, somewhat condescending.

 

“They're not shooting at us, though,” she panted. “Listen!”

 

Hancock craned his head, determining the direction of the gunfire. She was right. He could hear the crunch of bullets striking the crumbling facade of the museum. Leaning out from behind the doorless entrance of the church, he could see a group of raiders scattered along the street, taking cover behind cars and construction barriers.

 

“The fuck is going on?” he muttered to himself.

 

_“_ _Take cover, Marcy! Get Mama Murphy back inside!”_

 

A man's voice could be heard carrying out over the gunfire. Then the sound of a laser weapon hissed into the air, and an enormous bolt of red-hot energy seared into the center of one of the raider's chests. Hancock followed the path of the round, finding its origin at the top of the museum.

 

“What is it?” asked Scarlet, who was hovering behind him.

 

“Hold on, I can't see.” He stuck one foot outside of the entrance and hugged the door frame, twisting until he had a clear view of the museum's front. Standing on a balcony on the top floor was a man in a leather duster and cowboy hat, peering down the sights of a rather unusual laser rifle.

 

“What's going on?” Scarlet demanded impatiently.

 

Hancock ducked back inside, avoiding being caught in the raiders' line of sight. “There's a man on the balcony of the museum,” he said quietly, whirling back around to face her.

 

“Just one guy?”

 

“Yeah.” The two of them paused and ducked instinctively as a stray bullet hit the front of the church. “He's dressed up like one of the old Minutemen from back in the day.”

 

“Minutemen?”

 

Hancock reached into his pack and pulled out a homemade baseball grenade. “They're a group of do-gooders. Probably the closest thing we have to a militia out here in the Commonwealth. Or they were. Thought they disbanded years ago.”

 

“So what should we do?” Scarlet asked, clutching the grip of her pistol in both hands.

 

“We should probably help him out.” Hancock peeked back into the street, gauging the distance and direction he needed for the grenade in his palm. “You ready?” he said, looking back at her.

 

Scarlet swallowed thickly but dipped her chin in affirmation.

 

With astounding agility, the ghoul jumped out from his cover and hurled the explosive into the heart of the raiders' ranks. Without missing a beat, he drew his shotgun to eye level and ran into the fray, blasting off round after round in the midst of the grenade's detonation.

 

She remained inside the church, lining up targets in the enhanced sights of her laser pistol from the entrance. She grunted in annoyance as she attempted to cover him. His devil-may-care combat style made her anxious. Even though he knew what he was doing, having decades of experience with his shotgun, her heart still lept into her throat every time he rushed out onto the battlefield like that. She tried to steady her hand and keep a cool head while focusing on her targets, doing her best to prevent him from taking a bullet.

 

The dissonance from the grenade had confused the raiders, though, to the point where Hancock had no trouble mowing them down one by one as he strafed through the street. Scarlet made her way out of the church, staying low and close to the buildings as she mirrored his path. A gunshot cracked from somewhere off to the side, and she narrowly avoided getting hit. Snapping her head in the direction of the sound, she quickly determined her assailant's location and whipped the nose of her pistol towards him. Taking a split second to line up a shot, she squeezed the trigger. It hit him right in the center of his abdomen, bringing him to his knees.

 

She stumbled behind a concrete barrier in front of the museum. Hancock had taken cover behind a pillar and was reloading his weapon when Scarlet heard a man's voice crashing over her from above.

 

“I've got a group of settlers inside! Grab that laser musket and help us!”

 

Scarlet craned her neck as she looked up to the balcony, catching a brief glimpse of the man in the leather uniform before looking around for the laser musket in question. To her right, just beyond the safety of the barrier, lay the corpse of a man dressed identically to the one above her. A sick, sinking feeling overcame her as she crawled out into the street, reaching for the weapon that lay at his side.

 

As soon as she felt the leather strap in her fingertips she yanked it back into cover. She examined it as quickly as she could, noting the odd, transparent barrel and almost archaic hand crank on the side.

 

It seemed she wouldn't have a chance to use it just yet, though. The raiders' gunshots were beginning to fade, and those who were left were retreating into the city.

 

“John!” she yelled, motioning for him to join her.

 

He gave her a curt nod, taking a few more shots at the fleeing fighters before darting over to her.

 

The man on the balcony slowly lowered his rifle, squinting against the sunlight as he watched them scatter. “Looks like you scared them off!” he called over the railing. “But they'll be back. You should come inside while we figure out our next move.”

 

Scarlet slung the laser musket over her shoulder and stood up cautiously, keeping her pistol at the ready while she shouldered open the museum door, Hancock following closely after her.

 

They secured the door as best as they could behind them and stepped into the main hall. Just a few feet ahead, in front of the chain-link walls of the ticket booths, the wooden floor had caved in, creating a ramp down to the basement. Just beyond the ruins of the entrance were twin staircases on either side of the lobby, ascending to three floors that overlooked the center of the vaulted chamber.

 

“I'm glad you two decided to happen by.”

 

The pair turned their heads up to the third floor, where the man with the laser musket stood, leaning up against the decaying wooden railing as he looked down at them.

 

“When I see the Minutemen in trouble, I figure I gotta help out,” said Hancock confidently.

 

“Oh, so you've heard of us?” the man said curiously. “There aren't a lot of folk around that recognize the old uniform.”

 

“Honestly, I didn't know you guys were still out in the Commonwealth. Heard you had a falling out.”

 

“Yeah, but a few of us stuck around,” he said with a smile. “Why don't you come upstairs? I'll introduce you to the others.” He cocked his head in the direction of the stairs and strode off, readying to meet them when they got to the top.

 

Hancock held onto Scarlet's hand as they navigated through the rubble and over to the staircase. “He seems nice,” she said.

 

“The Minutemen are – were – good people. They kept the people of the Commonwealth safe for damn near a hundred years.”

 

“What happened to them?”

 

“Hmph. What didn't happen to them?” He said rhetorically, letting go of her hand as they began climbing the steps. “They had a base of operations at Fort Independence, until it was overrun by mirelurks. Their general died trying to defend the place. They couldn't agree on a new general and split up into a bunch of different groups. Some of 'em even went to raiding. Then the main group that was left got caught in a massacre down south, nearly wiped all of 'em out. Most people assume that the ones that survived would have died out by now.”

 

“That sounds awful,” she said quietly.

 

“They've had their share of trouble, that's for sure,” he said, lowering his voice as they reached the top. “Now you see why I was so eager to help out.”

 

Scarlet nodded in response as the minuteman came before them, holding his musket casually across his chest. “Name's Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

 

“John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor,” he said, stowing away his shotgun.

 

“Scarlet Wolf,” she chimed in, mirroring Hancock's gesture and holstering her weapon. Now that he was close, she took a moment to study his features. He was a statuesque and well-muscled man with dark brown skin and a kind, handsome face. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. Though admittedly, Scarlet had trouble discerning peoples' ages, since many of them were weathered beyond their years. His lips were flat, but his dark brown eyes were soft and smiling, and he was simultaneously straightforward and amiable as he addressed them.

 

“Mayor of Goodneighbor, huh?” he asked, knitting his brows at the ghoul. “What brings you all the way to Concord?”

 

“I used to live around here,” said Scarlet. “We were on our way to Sanctuary Hills. There's a vault nearby that might have some equipment I need.”

 

“Huh, that's funny,” he replied, his lips barely turning up at the corners. “We were on our way to Sanctuary too, before those raiders jumped us. Their first attack was yesterday, when they drove us into the museum. But you were right on time for that second assault.”

 

“Then I guess fate was good to you, considering we crossed paths,” said Hancock.

 

“Mama Murphy would love to hear that,” he said the a chuckle. The two looked at him quizzically, then he cleared his throat. “Sorry, better introduce you to the others. Or what's left of us,” he added dourly. “Follow me.”

 

The two men walked side-by-side down the corridor, Scarlet absorbing their conversation as she scampered behind them.

 

“What do you mean, 'what's left of you?'” Hancock asked.

 

Preston snorted bitterly. “A month ago, there were twenty of us. Yesterday, there were eight. Now, we're five. It's just me, the Longs – Marcy and Jun, Mama Murphy, and Sturges.”

 

“Where'd you guys come from?”

 

“I've been with this group of settlers since Quincy. They're just a group of regular folks, looking for a fresh start. Lexington looked good for a while, but a horde of feral ghouls ran us out of there.”

 

Hancock gave the man a sympathetic nod. “So why Sanctuary Hills?”

 

“Well, Mama Murphy's got something she calls 'the sight.' Has these visions.” Hancock arched an eyebrow at the man, but he just shook his head in response. “For the longest time, she's had a picture in her head of a place she called 'Sanctuary,' an old pre-war neighborhood, but one that would be safe, where we could rebuild. But as you can see, we aren't going anywhere with those raiders in our way.”

 

“You really think there's something to this 'sight' of hers?”

 

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Could be she sees the future. Could just be hallucinations from all the jet. Could even be she's just a clever old swindler. Whatever the case may be, the other settlers seem to trust her. She hasn't steered us wrong so far.”

 

The three of them continued all the way to the back of the museum, to the old office where Preston's group was hunkered down. The settlers raised their heads in unison as the trio entered the room, more than a little wary of the strangers suddenly appearing in their midst. “Everyone,” said Preston, holding their attention, “This is John Hancock and Scarlet Wolf. They showed up just in the nick of time to help defend us from those raiders.”

 

“Well good on you!” A man wearing blue overalls and worn leather gloves came up to them, smiling just a bit too broadly considering their predicament. “Hi there, name's Sturges,” he said, extending his arm to the newcomers. He shook both of their hands, and Scarlet was relieved that no one seemed to be put off by the fact that Hancock was a ghoul.

 

“As you can see, we're in a bit of a mess,” said Preston.

 

“That's an understatement,” Hancock huffed. “Aren't there any other Minutemen with you?”

 

He sighed heavily in response. “That man you saw outside,” he said, nodding toward Scarlet, “He was the only other Minuteman left. Now, I'm afraid it's just me.”

 

“Damn,” said Scarlet under her breath. It was all she could think to say just then.

 

“You got a plan for getting' outta here?” asked Hancock.

 

“As a matter of fact, there's somethin' in this building that might just be our ticket out of this place,” chimed in Sturges, running a hand through his coif of thick black hair. “I went up to the roof earlier, to check out that crashed vertibird up there. That thing's not of any use, mind you. But standing right next to her was an old suit of T-45 power armor, and it's still in pretty good condition.”

 

Hancock didn't seem impressed by the news, but Scarlet and Preston shared an excited look at the mention of power armor.

 

“And that's not all,” Sturges continued. “There's a minigun attached to the vertibird. Once you're in the power armor, it should be easy enough to rip it off and tear those raiders to shreds.”

 

“Well all right!” said Preston with a smile. “Maybe our luck's finally turning around. Once one of us gets into a suit of power armor and shows up outside with a minigun, those raiders'll know they picked the wrong fight.”

 

 _I need that power armor..._ Scarlet thought. She remembered Nick mentioning it to her before he left as a superior alternative to a hazmat suit for shielding against the radiation in the Glowing Sea. And it wasn't the first time she had heard about it; her former husband, Nate, had been trained to use power armor in the military. It was one of the few subjects Scarlet cared to listen to him go on about.

 

“Hold on a second there, guys,” Sturges said, holding up his hand. “That suit's outta juice. It's useless without a way to power it up.”

 

Preston slumped his shoulders in disappointment. Scarlet felt dejected, too, and her mind raced for a solution, combing over the memories of her conversations with Nate. “They run on standard fusion cores, right?” she asked.

 

“Sure do. There's even on here in the basement. Only problem is, it's password protected. There's a terminal connected to the security door. I've already looked through all the stuff in this here office, tried everything I could, but I can't find the password written down anywhere.”

 

Scarlet was so excited she had to suppress the urge to squeal. “I can hack that terminal for you,” she said triumphantly. “Get that fusion core.”

 

“Really?” said Preston, trying not to sound too disingenuous. “You think you can get into it?”

The minuteman couldn't help but give her a dubious once-over. She didn't look like much, with her small frame, big glasses, and cheesy cowboy hat. She certainly wasn't the most adept in combat. That much was obvious from her bold but unimpressive performance outside the museum. He normally wasn't one to judge, but given everything he had been through, he wasn't ready to put his faith in just anyone.

 

“Trust me,” Hancock said, pointing his thumb in her direction. “This little lady knows a thing or two about computers. I ain't seen her come across anything yet she can't hack her way into.”

He looked over to her, briefly meeting her eyes before she shyly averted them, blushing from his boast on her behalf.

 

“Hey, if you think she's up to the task, I say go for it,” said Preston. “Still, once you get the fusion core, who's gonna step up and wear the armor?”

 

The three looked earnestly at each other. Scarlet wanted to jump up and down and shout her willingness to volunteer, but contained her eagerness, only shifting slightly in her stance.

 

“Don't look at me,” said Hancock, hold up his hands defensively. “I don't know anything about that shit. I move better without armor, anyway.”

 

“It's not something I'm used to,” Preston said. “But I'm willing to give it a shot.”

 

“I'll do it.”

 

The three men turned their heads to look at Scarlet, who was turning red under their penetrating stares. She clasped her hands behind her back, twiddling her thumbs nervously. She wasn't exactly elated about the idea, if she were being honest. She'd be thrust into the front line of combat, a position she was awkward in. And heavy weaponry like miniguns were definitely not her forte. But she was bound to face similar, if not greater dangers in the Glowing Sea. She surmised that if she was going to familiarize herself with the T-45's systems, there wasn't any use avoiding it. A group of raiders was as good a proving ground as any.

 

And, if wearing it to bait some raiders meant she could walk away with the suit, she was ready for just about anything.

 

“You?” Preston gave her a disconcerting frown.

 

Hancock looked none too impressed, either. “You sure you wanna do that, Wolfie?” he asked her gently. “I mean, don't feel like you _have_ to.” He didn't want to necessarily discourage her from it. Despite her proclivity for being emotional, she was nothing if not rational in her decision-making. So much so that it sometimes bordered on being absurd. He trusted her skill with pre-war technology intrinsically, and he knew she was unlikely to put herself on the line if she didn't feel equal to the task.

 

But she wasn't quite the combat expert Preston was. If somebody was going to risk their life by diving into a group of raiders with a minigun, he would have preferred it to be someone other than his fiancee.

 

“I can do it.” She could tell Hancock felt uneasy about it, and placed a hand on his arm assuredly. “I may not have worn power armor before, but I know the basics,” she said, giving a cursory glance to both Preston and Sturges. “I know I'm not the most skilled soldier here, but I'm sure I can use the suit to my advantage. Besides,” she added, turning back to the ghoul next to her, “I need that power armor. We're going to an area with a lot of radiation, and it's the best defense you can get.”

 

Hancock smiled against the sigh that escaped through his nostrils. “If you wanna get in that power armor, I ain't gonna stop you.”

 

“Fine by me,” said Preston. “If you think you can use it, be my guest. I'm a better shot with my musket, anyway.”

 

“Well alright, then!” said Sturges with a swipe of his fist. “Now that we got all that settled, let's go get us a fusion core, kill us some raiders, and get the hell outta this town!”


	2. A Brush with Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some action and some brief smut.

_Why the hell am I doing this? What the fuck did I agree to? You're such a god damn idiot!_

 

As a firestorm of projectiles hit the front of the museum, Scarlet was on the roof, preparing to step into her power armor for the first time. She and Sturges had been tinkering with it for the past two hours, ensuring all of the vital systems were operational while they waited for the raiders to come back. In order to maximize the suit's potential, along with the ballistic damage of the minigun, they needed a full-frontal assault. They all knew that it was only a matter of time before the raiders regrouped for another attack, and fortunately for Scarlet, who was hovering on the verge of a panic attack, she didn't have to wait too long.

 

It was just enough time for her to feel like she had a grasp on the T-45's interface. Yet as the thunder of bullets pelted the walls, she cursed herself for being so willing to step into the line of fire.

 

“Sounds like that's my cue to leave!” said Sturges. “Good luck, and try not to get yourself killed!”

 

“Thanks,” she bit out sarcastically. He shuffled urgently to the door, taking shelter inside as the fighting began to escalate.

 

“I should probably get down there, give Garvey some cover.” Hancock had waited on the rooftop with her, more for moral support than anything else. He could tell she was getting increasingly skittish with each passing minute. He didn't know the first thing about power armor, not even bothering with basic protection most of the time. Scarlet was tech savvy to be sure, but this was her first hands-on experience with something like this. He was almost as nervous as she was, and resorted to chain smoking and intermittent hits of jet just to keep his wits about him while he watched the two study the suit. “You still wanna do this?” he asked.

 

Scarlet wiped her clammy hands against her sides and swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. “Yeah, I think so,” she said.

 

_What the fuck do you mean? You're insane! There's no way you're gonna make it through this!_

 

She screamed inwardly, and wondered how she managed to speak let alone stand upright. The excitement she had initially felt at the thought of donning the armor had given way to pure terror. Not only would she be staring down an army, but she would essentially be doing it alone. Hancock and Preston both knew it was wise to stay far from the spray of the minigun, engaging the raiders at a distance and defending the museum. To Scarlet, it felt like the fate of the universe rested on her slender shoulders, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to avoid it now.

 

“Hey, Sunshine, look at me,” he said firmly, attempting to center her shifting eyes on his. He closed the distance between them, latching onto her waist and pulling her into his embrace.

 

The shock of his touch combined with the steadiness of his gaze seemed to bring her around. He had kept his distance while they were in Preston and his crew's company, as he usually did when they were around strangers. He thought it was prudent not to raise any eyebrows when meeting new people, and a human/ghoul relationship was at its best an oddity, and at its worst a source of hatred and prejudice.

 

Scarlet understood his caution, though she didn't always think it was necessary. When he finally held her just then, her chest heaved with relief. She found the distance he kept to be unsettling, especially in the face of danger, and the way he avoided her eyes and called her “Wolfie” only compounded her anxiety. But with no one around, he seized his opportunity, and she quivered with gratitude in his arms.

 

“It's gonna be alright, you hear me?” He grabbed her by the chin, forcing her eyes upward and locking them in his abyssal stare. “You got this.”

 

His reassurance was better than a hit of jet. The involuntary shaking of her muscles came to an end, and the sparks of frenzy that ping-ponged in her head were abruptly silenced.

 

He could feel the tension in her body retreating. After she had nodded in understanding, he slipped his hand around the back of her head, digging his fingertips into her hair and smashing her face against his own in a crushing kiss.

 

Scarlet responded by throwing her arms around his neck and pushing against him with equal intensity. The sudden force was like a firecracker exploding on her lips, crackling along her nerve endings and jolting straight into her spine. With a taste of his breath, she was temporarily extracted from her surroundings, the fervency of his passion superseding reality. The mixture of jet and tobacco that tinged his tongue infected her in the most wonderful way, spreading from her own mouth into the tips of her fingers and toes. Whatever worries she had were shattered from the impact of his lips on hers. And as he pulled away from her, a bizarre but welcome tranquility replaced her panic.

 

Hancock placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. There was a soft confidence in his scarred face, and she smiled back at him with an equal measure of courage and composure. “I got this,” she said, her voice small but fierce.

 

“Hmph. That's my girl.” The ghoul reached to his side and withdrew the shotgun tucked into his belt. “Give those raiders hell. I'll be downstairs waitin' for ya.”

 

Scarlet nodded with self-assurance as he cocked his gun, turned around, and disappeared into the museum.

 

“Alright,” she said to herself, taking a deep breath. “Let's do this.” Scarlet stood behind the suit of power armor, its back open and waiting for her to enter. She stepped into the frame, planting her feet in the hydraulic stirrups before slipping her fingers into the chunky steel-plated gauntlets. As she pushed her face forward into the helmet, she could feel the suit closing around her, sealing itself shut with a hiss as the excess air was forced through the cracks.

 

The display that enclosed her field of vision flickered briefly before humming to life. In her periphery a line of code scrolled from bottom to top, soon replaced by a transparent image of the armor along with a brief list of stats on its condition. The gunfire outside the museum continued, though somewhat dampened by the thickness of the steel around her head, and her own breathing echoed loudly, audibly shaking from the adrenaline that pumped into her veins with each hammering heartbeat.

 

Scarlet took as much time as she dared to test the suit's movement, rolling her shoulders and bending her knees, getting a feel for the way it altered her mobility. It slowed her down to be sure, but she was almost surprised by the level of support it provided her. Clearly, her strength had been enhanced. As she swung her elbows back behind her and hopped a little in place, she found the activity astonishingly effortless.

 

The whine of Preston's laser musket now joined the cacophony of the raiders' pistols and grenades. She wasn't certain, but it sounded like Hancock's shotgun was in the mix as well.

 

 _Time to go,_ she said to herself. There wasn't any point in delaying further, and her eyes narrowed onto the minigun before her, perched on the carcass of the vertibird.

 

One step forward, then another. The weight of the power armor combined with her own clumsiness made the rooftop beneath her tremble uncomfortably. Attempting to step as lightly as she could, she ambled awkwardly to the weapon. Then, closing her metallic fists around its grips, she hoisted it off the vertibird's shattered framework, stumbling back as she adjusted her stance to accommodate its size.

 

The suit reacted by pulling up the stats of the minigun in her display. She noted the temperature, the condition, and the ammunition. It was still quite operational and well-supplied with bullets. However, she knew, if not from experience, how quickly one of these things could eat through rounds. She took another breath and paused, reminding herself not to get too trigger-happy. The whole plan would fall to pieces if she didn't take a second to focus on where she was aiming at least; even the best suit of power armor would fail after taking enough damage. She had to inflict enough damage of her own in the short time in which she had when the raiders would be surprised, wrapped up in processing their power-armored foe.

 

Scarlet meandered clunkily to the edge of the destroyed rooftop. Looking out over the streets of Concord, she assessed the raiders' positions. The T-45's software assisted her in highlighting her targets. They were scattered in front of the museum, a cluster of them behind the splintered walls of a corner drugstore, some spread out in the street taking cover, and some waiting a distance down the road, glaring down the scopes of sniper rifles.

 

Craning her head over the side of the building, she looked down at the drop in front of her. Nate had told her that some of the suits were so durable, they could fall from any height without so much as a scratch, even at terminal velocity when descending from an aircraft. A couple of stories shouldn't be a big deal, she surmised. Even so, without ever actually seeing or experiencing that kind of thing for herself, she was hesitant about taking the leap.

 

_Fuck it. Here goes nothing._

 

Scarlet hopped forward enough to provide adequate clearance from the building's outer wall. She held her breath while she fell, then let it out with a gasp as the impact of her feet cracked into the pavement beneath her. The sound rattled through the armor's frame, but it absorbed the vast majority of the shock, and she swiftly regained her balance and planted her feet, hoisting her minigun until the barrel was trained on the street in front of her.

 

The sound of her landing permeated the air. Fighters on both sides went quiet, the shock of the impact drawing their attention. Hancock was kneeling behind the concrete barrier at the museum's entrance when he felt the tremor in the ground following the booming rupture of metal on pavement. His head snapped up instinctively, looking to his left. Scarlet rebounded quickly after dropping to a knee, and already had her weapon honed on the action in the streets as he was busy regarding her presence.

 

Preston had stopped to look as well, but he and the ghoul had expected the intrusion and promptly resumed firing at the raiders.

 

Each of her steps was like a mini-earthquake as she stomped out into the center of the action. She allowed the suit to do the majority of the work for her, doing her best to relinquish control and let the interface do its job. The power armor's AI was swiftly taking over as her attackers began to set her in their sights. Almost as if by instinct, she twisted to face the raider positioned nearest to her, who was peeking his head out from behind a pillar.

 

Her fingers fixed themselves around the minigun's trigger. She wasn't sure if it was her own will or that of the suit, but she pulled back. The enormous barrel began to whir, spinning up until it was just a blur. Then the bullets flew, so fast she couldn't even discern the sound of separate shots. The recoil of the enormous gun hit her like a locomotive, but the suit once again bore the brunt of the force, and her aim was steady as she pelted the rotting wooden pillar with a barrage of 5mm rounds.

 

Her aim wasn't very precise, but it didn't need to be. The raider almost immediately collapsed face-first to the concrete, a handful of the dozens of shots that she had aimed at him sinking into his flesh.

 

Scarlet turned her head to the next target. He was heavily armored in steel with a cage around his head, and crouched behind the wheel-less frame of a rusted automobile. She had let off the trigger enough to let the weapon cool a bit, then began firing again as she re-trained her sights on him.

 

Sparks flew from the car's body as she clamped the trigger down. Lines of heat rippled the air from the minigun's barrel, which was rotating furiously as an endless series of bullets burst from its core. Amidst the barrage, the raider's arm flew up from behind his cover and chucked a grenade straight in her direction.

 

Responding to the new threat, Scarlet leaned back where she stood, following the prompting of the armor's systems. Her finger never let up and bullets continued to rocket out as she followed the arc of the explosive with the nose of her gun. A couple shots landed in the attacker's extended arm and she could hear his muffled roar of agony just as a round penetrated the grenade mid-air. It exploded in the center of the streets of Concord above their heads, an orb of fire glowing white-hot against the bright blue sky.

 

The scent of burning rubber made its way through her helmet and stung her nostrils, and the clink of shrapnel rained over her suit. Though she was startled by the blast, the suit's systems were undeterred and kept her on target, going back to her original task. She wasn't sure if she should override the software and move on to another mark, considering the raider behind the car was injured and safely tucked behind several layers of steel. But soon the wreckage of the car began to smolder, and what followed was a catastrophic burst of energy that was on par with a nuclear blast.

 

Anyone unlucky enough to be nearby was felled in the wake of the mushroom cloud that billowed from the carcass of the automobile. A violent shockwave tore its way through Scarlet, and even with her armor she swayed in her position. The Geiger counter display on her helmet turned red and crackled like static in her ear. Corvega had released a series of Atomic V8's just before the war, and apparently this had been one of them.

 

As soon as she could stand upright and the temporary blindness of the flash had dissipated, Scarlet took a quick look behind her to check on her allies. Hancock was still secure behind his barrier, blinking and squinting over the top as he raised the nose of his shotgun back up. His hat had been blown off his head by the force, and he slapped it back on unceremoniously before going back to firing.

 

Preston was positioned up on the balcony. He clambered to his feet and readjusted his hat as well before aiming his musket back down at the street, cranking the handle and charging up in preparation for his next shot.

 

A stray bullet bouncing off her leg brought her back to the action in front of her. Everybody seemed to be alright after that, apart from the raiders who had been caught in the explosion. In fact, the Corvega on its own had cut a swath through their ranks, and there were so few left that she was almost foolhardy as she blasted her way through the rest of them.

 

Slowly Scarlet advanced through the center of the street, allowing the software and AI of the T-45 to take the lead. She took down a couple snipers on the rooftops with astounding accuracy for the size of her weapon. From one raider to the next, she moved smoothly and effortlessly, her confidence bolstered by the portable bomb shelter around her. As bullet after bullet ricocheted harmlessly from her metal frame, Scarlet almost felt like she was having fun as her enemies crumbled before her, the blasts of their guns fading into nothing.

 

Hancock had followed her through the streets as she advanced, ready to offer support if she needed. But as he watched her ripping through each raider like a woman possessed, he simply stood back and took in the scene with bemusement. “God damn...” he said under his breath, looking on with a grin as the last raider finally fell.

 

The mechanical grinding and spinning of the minigun whined to a halt. Silence reclaimed the ruins. All that anyone could hear was the shuffling of the power armor's metal joints as Scarlet turned around, keeping a fast hold of the minigun, but allowing it to fall idly to her hip.

 

Hancock flipped his shotgun back, resting the barrel on his shoulder, and strode over to her. She wound her way back through the rubble to meet him, beaming imperceptibly behind her mask. “Did you see that?!” she asked proudly, her words assuming an unnatural buzz as they were filtered through the mouthpiece.

 

“Nice work, Sunshine,” Hancock said proudly. He couldn't help himself as he looked up at her gargantuan visage looming above him, and chuckled at the unusual size and strength the armor gave her. “You're a natural in that suit.”

 

“See, I knew there wouldn't be any problems,” she jibed, giving a sarcastic cock of her head.

 

But whatever victory they had to celebrate, whatever sense of achievement they were clinging to, all disappeared in light of the horror show that happened next.

 

The dreadful high-pitched groan of iron bending upon itself coupled with a rumble of the earth some twenty yards away. The empty trailer of a semi shifted back and forth over the ground, scraping painfully against the pavement. Then one end of it was catapulted into the air, as if it had been shot from a cannon, and the entire thing flipped over itself, revealing a deep, gaping rift in the middle of the town's main intersection.

 

Scarlet's eyes widened in horror and disgust as she watched the beast ascending from its lair. Jagged, spiky plates swayed into view, followed by a drooping set of scaly shoulders. Then horns, huge and curved like a ram's, reptilian hands with opposable thumbs, and on one finger, a claw longer than a dagger, hooking inward like the blade of a scimitar. The sharp white piece of weaponry on its finger caught the sunlight as the beast tossed its head back, letting out a spittle-flecked roar from its drooling mouth that shook her to the bone.

 

“Oh, shit...” muttered Hancock.

 

There was nothing between her and the creature to shield her from view. As it climbed from the depths of its hiding place it fixed its deadly gaze upon the power-armored human. Standing on its hind legs, the thing uttered a sinister growl, readying itself to tear after its prey.

 

Scarlet was still trying to make sense of what she was seeing when the T-45 snapped into action. Sensing a new threat, her minigun was directed back upwards and the barrel started winding up, just as the beast began charging toward her at breakneck speed, mowing over the scraps and wreckage that littered the road between them.

 

Hancock ran to a nearby building and sought cover, pumping shells furiously in the creature's direction. The minigun had just started spewing out bullets and slicing into their target, but the combination of the beasts' stiff, plated scales and sheer size made the damage nothing but a nuisance as it barreled into her full-force.

 

She dug her heels into the ground instinctively as she watched it coming at her. Despite her best efforts, along with the reflexes built into the suit, she was knocked flat onto her back. She was able to retain her consciousness as her helmet crashed back onto the concrete, and could feel the creature's talons pressing into the armor on her back, squeezing and probing, searching for a weak point in which to sink that one savage claw.

 

The minigun had been wrested out of her grip, and she found herself defenseless and vulnerable if not for the power armor as it opened its mouth, rearing back in preparation to strike. She threw her arm up in front of her face just in time, and it clamped down on the limb, its fangs squeaking and scraping across the metallic barrier.

 

Scarlet watched in terror as the gauntlet that stood between her and those gnashing jaws began to crumple. Even power armor, it seemed, couldn't withstand the brutality of this thing. It snarled and shook her arm as it held on, attempting to incapacitate the limb enough to get an open shot at her throat.

 

They struggled against each other for a moment. The giant lizard kept her torso pinned beneath it. It chomped down over and over again, trying and failing to get through the dented shell around her forearm. In violent frustration, it whipped its head to the side and her arm along with it, throwing it back momentarily against the concrete.

 

There was a split second of existential terror that seized her just then. Her right arm had been cast limply aside, and her left was wedged helplessly under the creature's weight. It drew its head back once more, opening wide in preparation for the final blow that would surely result in her demise. She stared up in forlorn fear into that gaping maw, so close to her now that she could see the bumps on its tongue, nearly fainting at the sight of impending death that bore into her hungrily with beady yellow eyes.

 

But just as it closed in, readying to close its jaws around her throat, it stopped, jumping up with a shriek that was unmistakably one of pain. She shifted in her armor, feeling the animal's weight suddenly release itself from her body.

 

It took several clumsy steps back, swinging its arms wildly and grasping at the unseen source of its agony. But as it whirled and twisted, turning in place, Scarlet saw a flash of red. Hancock had buried the blade of his knife up to the hilt into the back of the beast's neck, and he was clutching the handle for dear life as it thrashed around trying to dislodge him. His body swung back and forth like a rag doll, but he managed to hold fast in spite of being flung around.

 

Scarlet rolled awkwardly to her stomach and pushed herself to her feet. The minigun was close enough that she could simply reach out and reclaim it. But she wasn't so sure about using it. The spread of damage it would inflict was too uncertain; she didn't want to risk injuring Hancock. Desperately, she searched her panic-stricken brain for an idea that would disable the animal while avoiding hurting the ghoul.

 

The suit, on the other hand, had its own ideas.

 

As if operating on autopilot, she picked up the weapon, pressing the trigger down firmly before she had even taken the time to aim.

 

“Stop!” she cried out. But her distressed command did nothing to slow the unstoppable agenda that overtook the T-45's operating system. Bullets flew like raindrops in a never-ending cascade at the creature. She strained against the movements of her own muscles, trying to stop what she was doing, but she was ultimately powerless to stop it.

 

The beast bellowed as each agonizing projectile wormed its way into its flesh. It loped back and forth, attempting to escape being pelted, and at the same time shook its shoulders and swatted at the assailant on his back.

 

Scarlet cringed as it turned around, thrusting its spiny back into the line of fire, and Hancock along with it.

 

“Let go!” she screamed.

 

And he did, releasing the vice of his hand around the butt of his knife and falling to the ground – but not before taking a smattering of bullets himself.

 

Hot, angry tears stung her eyes as she watched what she had inadvertently done. The ghoul rolled once or twice as he hit the pavement before collapsing onto his back, arms outstretched, and gasping for air.

 

Screeching like a demon, Scarlet charged at the animal, keeping her finger smashed onto the trigger, refusing to let up. The AI of her suit tracked its movement without effort, and even as it tried to escape, she was shredding it to ribbons. Bits of scales and skin were flying from its body, and blood was running from various lacerations in rivulets down its charcoal-black hide. In a last-ditch effort it tried to flee, and took off down the road, heading for the leafless woods of the wasteland. But whether it was the loss of blood or the piercing of a vital organ, the animal skidded to a halt. Finally, just as the display in her helmet beeped to warn her that her ammunition was running out, the thing fell over, letting out one last wail as it flopped into a limp, bloody heap onto the pavement.

 

“Oh my god... oh my god...”

 

Scarlet didn't even bother to ensure that the animal had died. Hurriedly, she disabled her power armor, stepping back out of it as the airlock hissed open.

 

She abandoned the suit in the center of the street and ran to Hancock, frantic tears beginning to flow.

 

“John!” she called out.

 

He was sitting up now, in spite of the damage he had suffered. When he saw Scarlet darting towards him he summoned his strength and staggered to his feet, not wanting to worry her.

 

“I'm alright, Sunshine,” he said as she slowed to a halt before him. Her tears were obvious, and the frenzied look in her eye activated his protective instincts. Seeing her distressed, all he wanted to do in that moment was calm her. “I'll be okay. I've had worse.”

 

But the tightness in his throat when he spoke belied his pain. Several small holes lined his arms, leaking blood, and she knew there were more along his back where her minigun had pelted him. “Oh my god...” she said, holding two clenched fists in front of her mouth. “John I'm so sorry!”

 

Scarlet grabbed a hold of either side of his face, pressing a desperate, breathy kiss on his mouth.

 

“Hey... hey...” He tried to get her attention over the smacks of affection she was showering over his face. Finally he grabbed her by the wrists, and she stood back looking plaintively into his eyes, letting out a whimper. “Everything's alright. We made it,” he said gently, running his thumb along her cheek to wipe away a tear, while simultaneously leaving a streak of his own blood across it.

 

Scarlet sniffled, her lower lip trembling. She placed her palm on the back of his hand and held it to her cheek, soaking in the warmth and comfort he was offering. “What was that thing?”

 

“That, Sunshine, was a deathclaw,” he said with a smirk.

 

Scarlet's breath was shaking even as she caught it. “A d-deathclaw?” she stammered.

 

“Yep. One of the baddest sons of bitches in the wasteland. And _you_ killed it.”

 

She blinked several times in bewildered silence. Raiders were one thing. Raiders she had seen, and she had killed before. That animal had caught them all by surprise. It was like something out of a nightmare, and it was only fitting that it turned out to be a deathclaw, a creature she had only heard about in what she assumed to be rumors and tall tales. But it was frighteningly real. And it had almost killed them.

 

 _She_ had almost killed John. In the thick of it all, she had lost control of her suit. If he hadn't been a ghoul, he would certainly have died. And even though he assured her he was alright, the way the blood was dripping off the tips of his fingers was disturbing to say the least.

 

And if it hadn't been for the downright reckless way he had intervened with the deathclaw, she would have died, too.

 

“But you...” she began. She shook her head, as if to rattle her brain enough to shake the right words loose. “You attacked it.” Scarlet closed her fingers around his hand, latching onto him as if he would disappear if she didn't hold tightly enough.

 

“Well I couldn't just let it kill you, could I?” Hancock took a step forward, then tilted his head down, resting his forehead gently upon hers.

 

Scarlet closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in his essence as if it were as precious as oxygen. The whole thing was way too close of a call. Both of them, at one point or another, had been a hair away from death. And despite the fact that he ultimately saved her life, the way he had put himself out there like that, going after such a fearsome beast with nothing but a combat knife...

 

Hancock held both of her hands and let them fall between them, then laced his bloody fingers with hers. The scent of battle, of gunpowder and sweat, of gore and metal, still hovered in the air. What he had done was nothing short of psychotic. She was almost angry at him for what he did. But having come so close to losing him, and to losing her own life, all the negative emotions she was harboring began to evaporate. All she could feel was his touch, his riveted skin, the warmth of his breath. His scent, earth and leather and rum, was so fresh it was as if she were experiencing it for the first time.

 

_He attacked it... he risked his life to save mine._

 

It hadn't been the first time to be sure, and it probably wouldn't be the last. But something about the desperation of it all, the narrowness of their escape, the thrill of battle, the high she felt when she wiped out those raiders, the terror, the excitement, the way he stood with her there in the streets of Concord, despite the pain of multiple gunshots...

 

Scarlet tilted her chin up and met his eyes. He looked back at her with adoration, absorbing the sight of her, the flush of her cheek, the parting of her lips. She looked hungry or thirsty, or suddenly struck by some basal need. And as he searched her expression in an attempt to identify the cause of her yearning, he became increasingly aware that her tears had given way to the haze of wantonness.

 

Almost violently but without a single word, Hancock took off, holding fast to one of her hands and dragging her along behind him. Scarlet made a small gasp of surprise but said nothing as she lurched after him into a nearby building.

 

It had been a diner or a malt shop, or maybe even a bar. Not that it mattered. Not that she noticed or even cared as he forced her against the wall behind the counter. She shut her eyes and didn't dare open them as Hancock thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, all the while fumbling with the straps of her armor.

 

Scarlet did her best to help him without severing their connection, undoing her holster and letting it fall, along with her laser pistol, to the dusty tile floor. Once he had peeled off her chest piece she began unbuttoning her flannel. But as her shaking fingers struggled with the buttons Hancock lost patience, grabbing the garment by the collar and ripping it open, popping the buttons from their seams and sending them flying.

 

“John...” she whispered as he thrust his tongue between her breasts, drawing it up across her throat and under her chin, and finally sweeping it over her lips before working its way back into her mouth.

 

He pulled down the cups of her bra, pawing and groping at her breasts as they sprung free from their confines. Scarlet responded by wrapping her arms around his waist. Hancock pulled back, hissing in pain as she grazed over several bullet holes. She looked up at him with doleful eyes and snatched her arms away, holding them up to her face. But Hancock returned her reticent pout with a toothy grin. Snatching her by the forearm, he drew her fingertips to his mouth. Placing his lips around her index finger he sucked it in, licking the fresh blood from the whole of it before popping it back out and moving onto the others.

 

Scarlet leaned her head back against the wall, her exposed breasts heaving while he sucked each one of her fingers, first on one hand and then the other, before re-wrapping her arms around his waist. He groaned audibly again at the contact, a noise that was somewhere between pain and pleasure. But he paused, ensuring she wasn't going to let go before moving on.

 

He whipped his hat from his head and it landed somewhere across the room, then he stooped over, taking her full breasts in each of his hands. He ran the pads of his thumbs across her nipples as he kissed her, pushing his tongue so far back in her throat she almost gagged on it. Scarlet moaned and arched her back in response. Each pass of his skin over her rosy nipples heightened her arousal, and soon she was hovering on the edge, thrusting her hips unconsciously into his, begging for more.

 

The sight of her naked chest, the salty aroma of her skin, and even the taste of his own blood was driving him crazy. He was so hard he thought he might burst through his pants, but he withheld himself from going any further, even as she pressed her swollen clit onto his shaft. Instead he released his hold of her breasts and slid down to her hips, unfastening her pants and sucking hungrily on her lower lip.

 

Scarlet gasped sharply against his mouth when she felt one of his fingers driving between her folds. Her pussy contracted at the sensation, and a pulse of creamy nectar gushed perceptibly from her center. Hancock nestled another finger between her legs, parting her inner lips and spreading her wetness along her thighs.

 

Without hesitation he inserted his fingers into her slickness, pressing his thumb against her clit and rubbing it in circles. Scarlet resumed the contact of their lips, crying out into his open mouth. She tightened her hold around his back, sinking her nails into his damp undershirt. Hancock responded with a growl and squeezed his eyelids shut, pushing through the stinging of the pressure on his wounds and pouring every ounce of his concentration into the motion of his hand.

 

He fucked her steadily with his fingers, keeping up the stimulation of the tingling bundle of nerves between her legs. Within seconds she was shrieking in ecstasy. Her walls bore down around his digits, and her head fell back against the wall. The moaning in her throat climbed higher, louder, and Hancock slapped his palm over her mouth, stifling the noise as much as he could manage while she came.

 

He kept his hand still and Scarlet ground her hips against it as she came down. He pressed his lips against her throat, simultaneously feeling and hearing her muffled cries. Only when her movement stopped did he finally pull away, bestowing a lingering kiss over her panting lips.

 

Scarlet was still reeling from her climax when Hancock locked onto her wrist and wrenched her body around until she was facing the wall. Her nipples hardened even as her breasts were smashed against the cold, grimy wallpaper.

 

Before she could react he tugged at either side of her hips, pulling her pants and her underwear down over her bottom. Then, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her pinned, he reached down to his own pants, not even bothering to unbutton them as he pulled his erection through his zipper.

 

All he had to do was apply minimal force to the base of his shaft, and the warm head of his cock slid into the crack of her ass, aided by his own arousal that seeped from his tip. Once he had her lined up, Hancock leaned in and rested all of his weight against her, allowing his hands the freedom to run along her sides while ensuring she was immobile. Then, grazing his teeth along the back of her neck, he nudged his hips forward, burying himself into her with a deep groan of satisfaction.

 

Scarlet responded by standing on tiptoe, raising her ass so that he could penetrate her more completely. He wrapped an arm around her stomach to support her. The ghoul took a moment to revel in the sensation and stood still, the only motion being his cock pulsing inside of her. She began to wriggle her hips, forcing him deeper yet. Just the slightness of her motion made his balls ache for release, and he had to squeeze her body to his in order to quell her movements.

 

Hancock grabbed her by the throat, asserting control. She swallowed hard and whimpered at the feeling of his fingertips increasing in pressure, but he stopped short of discomfort, only using what force was necessary to keep her from moving.

 

Scarlet laid her cheek against the wall as he slowly pulled out. He rammed his way back in without warning, drawing out a squeal of pleasurable surprise. Then, still riding the high that came from their brush with death, he fucked her with unyielding desire, squishing her hot, wet figure between himself and the icy barrier of the building.

 

She rested her forearms flat upon the surface and squeezed her palms into tight fists. The hand around her torso kept her steady as she met his thrusts, her pert buttocks hitting his groin with a smack at each apex of his invasion. Scarlet bit her lip, forcing the vocalizations of pleasure through her teeth as he filled her aching pussy to the brim.

 

Hancock leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder. Soon, his breathing had intensified into what Scarlet recognized as being on the verge of release. She writhed in his grasp, pushing back against his thrusts with as much force as she could manage. She was ready for another climax herself, and worked with him to bring them both to the edge together.

 

He held her waist tighter, squeezed her throat harder, his panting building into low moans that vibrated in her ear. “Come with me,” he commanded. And just as soon as he had spoken those words, the ball of tension inside of her exploded into a waterfall of pleasure that soaked her to the bone.

 

“Fuck!” he grunted. With the rippling waves of her inner walls, he hurdled over the point of no return. He sunk his teeth into the curve of her shoulder as much as he dared, suppressing his moans into her flesh as he expelled his seed deep within her. He bucked against her ass, pushing himself as far as he could possibly go as he bathed her insides with each warm spurt of cum.

 

His member was still rigid as the two of them recovered. They breathed deeply together, Scarlet still flat against the wall, and Hancock hardly able to keep himself upright on his shaking legs as he rested against her. Neither of them moved for several minutes, neither of them wanting to feel the emptiness that would come from tearing their bodies apart.

 

But eventually, they did. The pair finally broke their connection, and Hancock noiselessly began assisting her in putting her clothes and armor back in order. They were almost afraid to speak. Each of them was still raw, their heads still swimming from the ordeal they had faced only moments ago, when they had almost lost one another. All they could manage to do was gaze at each other in reverent silence, thanking whatever unseen force that had allowed them both to come out of their tribulation battered, but intact.


	3. Pieces of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings, admissions, other stuff and things.

“Can it really be... Miss Scarlet!”

 

“Codsworth?”

 

She had just exited her power armor, leaving the damaged suit standing in the makeshift workshop in the center of Sanctuary when the Mr. Handy began hovering over. Preston and Hancock had reached for their guns when they saw it. But as soon as the robot recognized the face of his long-lost mistress, the two men simply watched with perplexed stares as Scarlet rushed to meet him.

 

“As I live and breathe!” the battered robot trilled in his stuffy English accent. “It really is you! After all these years...”

 

Scarlet was overjoyed to see the hunk of metal that had once been her butler. He may have been nothing but a run-of-the-mill servant, but it was someone she knew, a connection to her life before she woke up in that cryo chamber and was thrust out into this post-war hell. She wanted to hug that silly spherical body of his just then. But as she took in the sight of him, with one hand being a pincer-like claw, the second a round sawblade, and the third modded into a laser pistol, she settled for a wide, warm smile.

 

“Oh Codsworth, I'm so happy to see you! You have no idea.”

 

“The feeling's mutual, mum!” The bottom part of his body spun on its axis in excitement. “It's been so many years, so many long, dreadful years. I had almost given up hope.” Codsworth's eye stalks briefly dropped, but quickly popped back up, catching a glint of the morning sunlight. “But it doesn't matter now, you're here!”

 

Scarlet looked over her shoulder. The four settlers were wary at first, but since this automaton was obviously not a threat, they had gone back to exploring the interior of the workshop. Preston and Hancock were watching the two intently, absorbing the interaction, but keeping their distance. The minuteman in particular was puzzled by what appeared to be a reunion.

 

After they had cleared Concord of threats, they had decided to spend one more night in the Museum of Freedom and head for Sanctuary in the morning. The young woman and her ghoul companion were friendly, but hadn't revealed much about who they were or what they were doing so far from Hancock's hometown of Goodneighbor.

 

It seemed like Scarlet knew an awful lot about where they were going. So much, in fact, that it was strangely suspicious. She knew exactly where they were headed, even though it wasn't an established settlement. But she claimed to have lived there once – another odd coincidence. She also claimed there was a vault nearby. Preston noted the pip-boy on her arm and knew she had probably come from a vault, so he supposed that bit made some sense at least. But the way she spoke about the old neighborhood was peculiarly specific. And it was especially bizarre, the way she kept calling it “Sanctuary Hills.”

 

The redhead motioned for the two of them to come forward, a joyful grin plastered to her lips. “C'mon!” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Come meet Codsworth, you guys!”

 

Hancock straightened his tricorn and moseyed forward amiably, his hands resting casually in his pockets. Preston hesitated but nonetheless followed, still keeping a respectable distance while he tried to make sense of this scene.

 

“Codsworth, these are my friends, John Hancock, and Preston Garvey.” The mayor tipped his hat and bowed slightly at the mention of his name, while Preston settled for a curt nod.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, sirs!” Codsworth said genuinely, his happiness accentuated by another rotation of his arms. “It's good to see that my mistress has found reliable company in her travels.”

 

“I do my best to keep her out of trouble,” Hancock said with a wink.

 

“Yes, splendid!” he said with a snap of his pincers. “And I do hope the master and young Shaun will be along shortly.”

 

Hancock went stiff where he stood, locking his eyes on Scarlet. She looked down at her feet without uttering a word. A long, uncomfortable stillness grew around them as both the ghoul and the Mr. Handy awaited her response, a confused Preston looking on.

 

“I...” Scarlet began, rubbing her hands together uneasily. She looked back at Hancock, who did his best to keep his expression neutral as she figured out what to say. “I'm sorry, Codsworth,” she said lowly, gazing at the robot with mournful eyes. “Nate is... he's dead.” She tried to keep her tone gentle, not wanting to shatter his spirit after he had been so elated to see her. He had gotten to this particular moment in time the hard way, after all, eking out a lonely living in the ruins of this abandoned suburb. She had at least been able to sleep through the centuries, skipping over the hardships she would have had to face otherwise.

 

Codsworth was visibly shattered by the news, and he lowered his arms until they hung listlessly beneath him. “The master is... dead?” he asked, exceptionally sorrowful in light of the fact that he was a robot. “I... I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, mum.”

 

“It's alright,” she said with a small smile, though she swallowed thickly before she continued. “He's...” she paused, searching for the right words to comfort him. “He's... in a better place.”

 

“I suppose that's true,” he said with a sigh, “though it still saddens me to hear of his passing.” The robot re-situated his limbs, and the lenses of his eyes hummed as they focused on her face. “Please don't tell me that young Shaun has met the same fate.”

 

Scarlet shook her head. “He's not dead,” she said swiftly, as much for her own benefit as Codsworth's. “But... I'm afraid he's been kidnapped.”

 

“Oh, my!” The old butler raised his eyestalks, and his thrusters pulsed beneath him, making him bounce in place. “How awful! Who would do such a thing?”

 

Scarlet sighed, letting her head drop with a shake. “It's a long story,” she said quietly. “I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk about everything right now.”

 

Hancock's heart sunk, and it looked as if her spirit had completely left her body. He ached to place a comforting arm around her shoulder. There wasn't a lot he could do, and while he was incapable of simply bringing her child back to her, he could at least offer his support when she needed it.

 

But he dug his hands deeper into his pockets, a string of curses floating through his mind. Preston was a good guy. He may not have cared that Hancock was a ghoul. And the settlers, while stand-offish, didn't seem to mind, either. But he didn't want to risk Scarlet's reputation. There was still a harsh stigma against humans who chose to be intimately involved with ghouls. It wasn't an issue in a town like Goodneighbor, or other places of iniquity. But the Commonwealth at large was quick to pass judgment on something like that. Until he was certain, Hancock wasn't going to do anything that would make the nature of their relationship explicitly obvious. It was enough that they already had some suspicions, and he concluded that there was no need to make it any worse than it was.

 

“Is there anything I can do?” Codsworth offered gently.

 

Scarlet raised her head, managing a smile. “No, Codsworth. You've already...” She choked on the lump in her throat, a surge of tears welling up in her eyes. “I'm just so glad to see someone I know.” A solitary tear spilled onto her face, and she hurriedly wiped it way with her finger.

 

“Oh, mistress, please don't cry!” Codsworth reached out to her with his pincer sympathetically, stopping short of touching her. “Everything's going to be alright, now that you're back.”

 

She swallowed her sobs, knitting her eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well,” he began, his pupils darting around in either direction. He looked about as nervous as an automaton could.

 

“What is it, Codsworth?” she probed, taking care to keep her tone calm and soothing.

 

“Oh, mum!” he cried dramatically, throwing his arms up. “It's been horrible! Just horrible! Two centuries with no one to talk to, no one to serve. I spent the first ten years trying to keep the floors waxed, but nothing gets out nuclear fallout from vinyl wood. Nothing! And don't get me started about the futility of dusting a collapsed house. And the car! The car! How do you polish rust?”

 

Scarlet put her hand up to her mouth in an attempt to hide her laughter from poor Codsworth. Glancing over to Hancock, he could tell he was trying not to laugh, too, but doing a better job of keeping his mouth shut. In spite of his frivolous concerns, it was endearing to see that even after all this time, some things had remained the same as they'd always been.

 

“I'm sorry, Codsworth,” said Scarlet, clearing her throat and adopting a more serious expression. “That sounds terrible.”

 

It was pretty terrible when she thought about it. Two hundred years was an awful long time to be alone, robot or not. A human in his situation would have inevitably gone mad. Fortunately for her, his programming kept him from going completely off the deep end.

 

“I cannot express the depth of my relief at seeing you again, Miss Scarlet,” he said with gravity. “When the bombs came you all left in such a hurry. I thought for certain you were... dead.”

 

“I'm still here,” Scarlet said firmly. “Even though everything else didn't make it...” Her voice dropped as her gaze wandered down the street. Sanctuary Hills was in decent shape compared to most of the ruins she had seen. At least the majority of the houses had a discernible structure. But with the barren trees and yellowing grass, with debris littering the empty streets, and what was left of of the homes being in total disrepair, it was nothing short of depressing.

 

Her eyes roamed back to Codsworth, then zeroed in on the building behind him.

 

It was her old house.

 

The robot followed the line of her longing stare. “Oh mum, I'm so sorry for the state of the house. I did my best, but I'm afraid I couldn't undo all of the damage.”

 

“It's alright,” Scarlet said blankly, unable to tear her eyes away. “Is there... is there anything left?” she asked hesitantly. “Anything at all?”

 

Codsworth cocked one of his eyes. “Over the years, I did have to clear out a few things,” he said dourly. “But everything I could salvage, I took excellent care of,” he added with a touch of pride.

 

She wrung her hands. The anticipation was both alluring and terrifying. _I have to see it,_ she thought.

 

Hancock knew what she was thinking without even asking. Carefully he sidled up next to her, looking down at her strained expression with sympathy. “That's it, isn't it?” he asked softly, trying to stir her frozen body back into action.

 

“Yeah,” she replied, her eyes almost dead as she continued to focus on the ruin in front of her.

 

“You wanna go have a look?”

 

She nodded in response, then turned to him, her blue eyes wide and pleading behind her glasses. “Will you come with me?”

 

“Of course I will,” he said, smiling tenderly. “I'll be right behind ya.”

 

She took a deep, fortifying breath, steeling herself for what memories she would encounter. Apprehensively, she took one step forward, then another, ambling sluggishly to the place she had called home more than two centuries ago.

 

Hancock started after her but paused. He looked over his shoulder at Codsworth and then Preston, the former awaiting his next orders patiently, the latter being too discombobulated to do anything else but stand there. “Why don't you guys give us some time?” the ghoul said statically, giving them both a rather hard look as if to ward them off. “We'll meet up with you later.”

 

“Right-o,” said Codsworth. The robot angled his thrusters and hovered down the street, seeking out another menial task with which to occupy himself.

 

Preston slumped his shoulders. “Fine by me,” he said, almost grudgingly. “You guys be careful.” The minuteman slung his musket over his shoulder before turning away, rejoining the settlers in the abandoned workshop.

 

Her first instinct when she walked in the door was to flip on the light switch. _There's no power_ , she reminded herself. The light outside was steadily growing in strength as the sun climbed higher, but even with all the lesions marring the walls and roof, there was enough of the house left to make the interior dim as she began to explore it.

 

Codsworth had indeed kept everything tidy, relatively speaking. At least there weren't any obstacles to navigate as she shuffled into the living room. Solemnly she swept her eyes over the room, noting the layer of dust that clung to the couch cushions, the skeletal lampshade in the corner, the broken screen of the television.

 

“Just like I left it,” she mumbled.

 

Hancock hung back in the doorway. He wanted to give her space while she pored over the pieces of her past, give her room to process her feelings. Facing the home she had left behind may not have been something she really wanted, but it needed to be done, and he was bound to see her through it.

 

Her feet tread carefully over the moldy carpet and onto the tile floor of the kitchen. It was open, the only barrier separating it form the living room being a long, narrow counter. A chipped coffee mug sat poised on one end, and she inched toward it, extending her hand slowly but calmly. “I had coffee that morning,” she whispered, running her fingertip over the handle. Her fingers traveled down to the counter top and she grazed them listlessly over the surface, dragging along a layer of dust until she hit something soft and delicate.

 

Scarlet tucked her fingers underneath it before raising it to her face, tenuously blowing the grime from its surface. “Grognak the Barbarian,” she said with a smile. The colors on the cover had faded, and its musty scent wafted to her nose as she swiped her hand over the more stubborn patches of dirt. “Another one of my comic books. Nate thought it was so stupid that I collected them,” she said with a chuckle.

 

Hancock stayed silent. He leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed until she had finished going over what was left of her kitchen. Then, as if being lured away by something unseen, she meandered down the hallway, looking like a sleepwalker as she made her way to the bedroom in the back.

 

He trailed behind her, ensuring his footsteps were loud enough to be heard, reminding her of his presence. He halted in the doorway, patiently watching over her.

 

“This was Shaun's room,” she said. She stood in the center, rotating in place with her hands tucked against her chest.

 

Hancock's heart beat a little faster, anticipating some kind of a response. But Scarlet remained placid as she examined the dilapidated nursery, stroking what was left of the curtains, then dragging her hand along the railing of the crib. “He was still just a baby,” she said, her whisper cutting harshly into the stillness.

 

She leaned over the edge and looked inside, her back towards him. She picked up something he couldn't see, whimpering so low that it was almost inaudible.

 

When she turned back around, Scarlet was clutching a ratty old teddy bear to her breast, holding on to it as if it were Shaun himself.

 

Hancock's heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight. It was so achingly sad, seeing her cradling that worn bear with such reverence. As she came back into the hallway Hancock stood to the side, letting her continue in her trance-like state to the master bedroom that she and her husband had shared.

 

Scarlet examined the wooden bed frame, which was missing one of its legs. Tepidly she laid a palm flat on the cover and pushed down, testing the remaining spring in the mattress. Then she floated to the closet, the door having fallen off long ago, and looked stoically inside it.

 

There were still a few garments clinging to the hangers, most of them old dresses of hers. Some of them still appeared to be wearable. But as she pinched at the fabric, memories came at her in rolling waves. “It was so long ago,” she mused aloud. She allowed herself to study them at length while she reminisced, calling to mind the places she had visited while she was wearing them, the people she had seen, and everything she loved that had been left behind.

 

“It was so long ago,” she repeated with a sigh, “but not for me. It may as well have been yesterday.” Scarlet set her lips sternly, coming down on her own thoughts with the hammer of practicality. There was no use dwelling on the past. Sure, it felt like it was still fresh. The years that elapsed meant nothing to someone who had been frozen in time. But it was over and gone, never to return. It may has well have been someone else's memories she was recounting, or the fleeting images of some previous life. It was little more than a dream now. With a bitter sense of finality, Scarlet drew Shaun's teddy bear away from her chest, laying it coolly on the dresser.

 

She sauntered back over to Hancock, wiping the grime from her palms. “There's a lot to do, but I think I can make this place livable,” she said. “At least for a little while.”

 

The ghoul crossed his arms and arched a brow at her. “You wanna stay here?” he asked, his voice heavy with skepticism. He didn't know why she wanted to linger here in Sanctuary, now that she had gotten a set of power armor to protect her in the Glowing Sea. He had assumed that once her curiosity was sated, she would want to move on as quickly as possible. And on top of that, if she wanted to stay here, he thought it was a bad idea to set up camp in her old house, with so much emotional baggage attached to it.

 

“Well we still need to check out the vault,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I wanna look around here some more, too. That power armor needs some serious repairs. It's gonna be tough to find everything I need to fix it.”

 

Hancock grunted in affirmation. “Alright then,” he said affably. “We'll hang around and fix up that suit. And who knows, we might find some other useful shit down there.” He pushed himself from the doorway and stood in front of her, placing a reassuring hand on either shoulder. “But are you sure you wanna stay here? Sure you don't wanna stay in one of the other houses down the road?”

 

Scarlet was touched by his concern, and smiled lovingly up at him as she shook her head. “I want to stay here,” she stated warmly. “It might seem crazy but... it feels good to be home. It feels... I don't know. Peaceful. Like I can actually relax for the first time in... forever.”

 

He ran his hand along her jawline, bringing it to rest beneath her chin. He could sense the tranquility in her face. He even thought he noticed a gleam in her smiling eyes. She looked happy, more than happy in fact – there was an air of contentedness that surrounded her, emanating from her body in a way that was almost infectious. And, strangely, being with her in the house she had lived in all those years ago, Hancock almost felt like he was home, too.

 

* * *

 

 

“You know all that dust is just gonna come back,” Hancock chided.

 

“I don't care,” Scarlet said, grunting with effort as she wailed against a blanket with a tree branch. “If I'm gonna sleep in that bed,” she paused, catching her breath before she resumed her task, “I'm gonna have clean sheets.”

 

Codsworth had apparently given up on the dusting, and it was plain to see why. It was everywhere, and no matter how clean something got, it would just be covered in another sooty mess the next day. However, now that she was home, she was determined to make the best of things in light of her surroundings. Her bed was still in excellent shape. And there was something cathartic about the thought of tucking under her own covers for the night. She had stripped the mattress and taken the bedding out to the clothesline. But even after nearly half an hour of whacking the years of dust loose, it still wasn't clean enough for her.

 

“At least let me take over for a while,” he pleaded.

 

Scarlet relaxed her arms, resting the branch on the ground as she crinkled her nose at him. She had changed into a yellow t-shirt and a pair of jeans, with a paisley scarf wrapped around her head. It was something she had worn in the past when she was doing housework. Even though she had previously considered it to be one of her grungier outfits, wearing it now was more glorious than if she had donned a custom-fitted evening gown. Hancock thought she looked pretty cute in it, too.

 

“Fine,” she said, offering him the fat end of the branch in her outstretched arm. “I need to take a break, anyway.” Hancock took it with a grin as Scarlet huffed away, rubbing the tightness of her arms as she plopped down into a white lawn chair.

 

Hancock faltered for a moment, testing the weight of the stick and contemplating the position of his grip. Scarlet looked on with interest, a curious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The ghoul then raised the branch up and back, as if he were holding a baseball bat, before letting it go with a furious wallop against the thick blue comforter.

 

Scarlet couldn't help her outburst and erupted into a hearty bout of laughter. Hancock looked back at her, a scowl tightening his features. “What's so funny?”

 

“It's just weird!” she said, trying to bring herself back under control. “Seeing you doing domestic stuff.”

 

“Am I not doing it right or somethin'?” he said with a slight pout of frustration.

 

“No, no. It just looks so... out of place, you know?”

 

“Look, if you don't want me to do it, I-”

 

“No, please!” she insisted against her fading chuckles. “You're doing fine.”

 

Hancock grunted in disapproval. “I don't mind helpin' you out, Sunshine, even if it is kinda ridiculous. But could you maybe not laugh at me?”

 

“I'll try not to,” she grinned, taking off her glasses momentarily so that she could rub her eyes.

 

Hancock gave her an indignant glare before going back to his task and tried to ignore her. He picked up the branch again as he had before, poising it over his shoulder.

 

Scarlet clamped her hand over her own mouth, desperately attempting to keep her laughter at bay. Hancock thought he heard a snort and snapped his head in her direction, his eyes narrowing in annoyance when he saw her doubled over. Catching his dirty look, Scarlet straightened up in her chair and placed her hands innocently on her lap, biting hard against the inside of her lip and giving him an encouraging smile. Once more the ghoul shrugged it off, re-focusing on his task and pushing her snickering face out of his mind.

 

But as he struck the blanket again, it was met with another irrepressible roar from Scarlet, who tossed her head back and clutched her sides unabashedly.

 

“You little liar!” he said with a playful growl. He let the stick fall to the ground and stalked over to her chair. “You promised not to laugh.” Hancock snatched her by the wrists, attempting to pull her up out of her seat.

 

“I said I'd try not to!” she giggled, leaning back and trying to free herself from his grip.

 

“Maybe I oughtta give _you_ a good beating...” he said seductively, leaning his mouth into her neck.

 

“John, stop it!” Scarlet couldn't stop her girlish laughter as he teased her, and was trying to push him away with her elbow when a man's voice interrupted their banter.

 

“You guys having fun?”

 

Preston stood in the backyard, watching their antics with a humorless expression, hands sternly fixed on his hips.

 

The pair instantly broke apart. Hancock whirled around and clasped his hands behind his back, and Scarlet bolted up from her chair. The two smiled sheepishly, looking like a couple of teenagers who had just been caught making out.

 

“Hi Preston. How's everything going?” Scarlet could feel the heat simmering in her cheeks, and wished that she wasn't prone to blushing so easily.

 

“It's getting late,” he said atonally. “Thought you guys might wanna join us, have something to eat.”

 

The sky was emblazoned with red and orange as the sun approached the horizon. He had kept his distance the entire day, per Hancock's request. Even though it was unusual the way they wanted to search that particular house, Preston couldn't come up with a reason against it and let it go. But as the day wore on, the settlers began asking questions. These two had arrived at the most opportune moment possible, had saved them from the raiders who threatened them not once but twice, and had assisted Preston in escorting them to Sanctuary.

 

But now, the danger was over. And judging by the way they were making themselves at home, Preston knew that they would likely be sharing each others' company for a while yet. He was grateful to these strangers for what they had done. All of the settlers were. But they owed him some answers. Maybe he didn't have to know their life story, but he at least deserved an explanation as to why they were here and what their future intentions in Sanctuary were.

 

Inviting them to dinner was a selfish move. He hoped that bringing everyone together would force them to open up. Maybe their continued secrecy sprang from lack of trust, and if they got to know everyone better, it might loosen their lips.

 

Scarlet cracked a grateful smile at the invitation. “That would be amazing! I'm starving,” she said, placing a hand on her stomach.

 

“Sounds good,” Hancock agreed. It felt like ages since they had eaten a decent meal.

 

“Marcy's cooking up a mole rat,” he said. “When you're ready, just come meet us around the fire.”

 

“You want us to bring anything?” she asked.

 

Preston looked confused by her question, but politely shook his head. “That's alright,” he said. “Just stop by, maybe chat with us for a bit.”

 

Hancock bobbed his head up and down casually, looking pleased with the arrangement. Scarlet wasn't so sure, though. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but it seemed like Preston's request carried something extra with it. Like maybe it wasn't simply the good-natured proposition it appeared to be on the surface.

 

But she covered her suspicion with a smile, waving after him as he left.

 

“What'dya mean, 'do you want us to bring anything?'” Hancock asked once the minuteman was safely out of earshot.

 

“What?” she asked with a frown. “When someone invites you over to eat, it's polite to bring a dish, or a bottle of wine or something.”

 

“This ain't a pre-war dinner party, Sunshine,” he said, rather patronizing. “If someone wants to feed you, you just say yes.”

 

“Don't you think that's weird, though?” she pondered, fixating on the spot where Preston had been standing. “Why would he want to share his food with us without expecting something in return?”

 

Hancock chortled. “I think that's pretty obvious,” he said, swelling with self-assuredness. “We saved their asses from those raiders. _And_ a deathclaw. They probably wanna say thanks.”

 

Scarlet pressed her lips together with a shake of her head. “I don't know...” She tilted her head to the side, mulling over what Preston had said. “There's something he's not telling us.”

 

He turned to her, looking down at her serious face with an inquiring glare. “What's gotten into you lately?” he asked lightly, one side of his face curling up into a half-smile. “First you wanna explore an old museum. Then you wanna put on some power armor and tear up raiders with a minigun. And now you're getting' all suspicious of a guy who wants to give us free food.”

 

She turned her head, meeting his gaze with a smirk of her own. “Yeah,” she agreed. “And since when are you so trusting?”

 

“Like I told you before, I've dealt with the Minutemen. They're good people.” Scarlet narrowed her eyes incredulously at him. “Besides,” he added. “He hasn't given us a reason _not_ to trust him.”

 

She sighed in surrender, letting her arms hang at her sides. “If you say so,” she relented. “But I'm still bringing over a bottle of wine.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner had started off on a friendly enough note. The fire was cozy and inviting against the starry night, and the smell of roasted meat was nothing short of heavenly. Scarlet made small talk and tried to keep the conversation light. It was something she had never really enjoyed in the past, but it seemed like the thing to do, and was almost enjoying the quaint simplicity of the gathering.

 

But as they polished off the roasted mole rat and wild mutfruit, the atmosphere began to grow thick and awkward. The settlers seemed to be sneaking wry glances at Scarlet and Hancock every chance they got, trying and failing to cover up their steely looks with sociable smiles.

 

“So,” she said, cutting into a tense silence that had gone on far too long. “Who wants a drink?” She dug into the sack at her feet and withdrew a bottle of schnapps she had discovered while digging through her pantry, pristine and unopened. She had abandoned the idea of bringing wine and opted for something stronger, considering that it would have to be shared between seven people.

 

Mama Murphy craned forward in the antique armchair that the settlers had brought out for her. She ran her tongue across her weathered lips and grinned, extending her arm toward the bottle. “I'll take some a' that,” she said in her dry, husky voice.

 

Scarlet stood up and walked over to the old woman, twisting the seal open but leaving the cap on, allowing her to have to first drink. “It's peach flavor. Hope you like it.”

 

“Trust me, honey, it doesn't matter what flavor it is.” She twisted open the top with gusto. Then, placing the bottle to her lips, she tilted her head back, taking several generous swallows as the liquid funneled into her mouth.

 

“Now, now, Mama,” chimed in Sturges, who had just fetched another log for the fire. “Take it easy. I don't wanna have to carry you to bed.”

 

“Lay off her, Sturges,” barked Marcy, who sat in the grass next to her husband as she lit up a cigarette. “She's old enough to make her own decisions.”

 

Mama Murphy lowered the bottle, and the mouth unsealed from her lips with a pop. “You got that right.” She nodded towards Marcy in agreement, a wave of pleasure washing over her wrinkled face as the alcohol seeped into her bloodstream.

 

“Alright, that's enough,” said Preston, gently but decisively sauntering over to take the bottle from her hands. He courteously replaced the cap and went to return it to Scarlet, who had retaken her seat in a folding chair next to Hancock.

 

But the woman shook her head and pushed it back into his hands. “No, you have some. I insist.”

 

He knew she was just trying to be gracious, so he did his best to decline her offer as gracefully as he could. “I wish I could, Ma'am, but I gave up drinking a long time ago.”

 

Her mouth pursed into a silent “oh” and she raised her eyebrows in understanding. “I'm sorry Preston,” she said quickly. “I didn't mean to pressure you.”

 

“It's alright,” he said amiably, sliding onto a stool and holding his hands toward the flames. “You didn't know. Besides, we need someone to stay sober in case something decides to crawl its way out of the river while we're sleeping.”

 

“I'll have some,” said Marcy, gesturing for Scarlet to pass the bottle her way. She took a swallow before passing it off to her husband, who silently took a tepid sip before returning it.

 

“Sturges?” she asked, pointing the neck at him.

 

“Sure, why not?” He signaled for Scarlet to remain seated and came over to her chair. He took one careful taste as he stood next to her, smacking his lips and assessing the flavor before taking a healthier swig. “Mmm!” he hummed excitedly, holding the bottle up and examining it in the firelight. “This is some pretty good stuff!”

 

“Have as much as you want,” she grinned. She was happy that they were all enjoying her contribution, and looked forward to the effects of the alcohol loosening them up a little. After one more drink Sturges returned the Schnapps, squatting down next to the fire and prodding it with a nearby stick. Following proper etiquette she offered it to Hancock next, who raised a palm and removed a flask from his breast pocket.

 

“Nah,” he said. “That sweet stuff gives me a headache. You go ahead.”

 

Now that everyone else had gotten a taste she allowed herself a drink of her own. She downed one large gulp, then another, and had to stop herself from going overboard – it was some of the best-tasting liquor she had experienced since leaving the vault, and it went down almost too smoothly.

 

She gave a little hiccup, lowering her eyes with a shy smile amidst the soft laughter of the settlers. They passed the schnapps around a few more times, Mama Murphy in particular downing more than her fair share of the stuff, until all of them save Preston were pleasantly buzzed. The conversation began to flow more easily, and soon they were talking freely, sharing cigarettes, and generally enjoying their first quiet evening in months having finally reached the safety of Sanctuary.

 

Preston may not have been drunk, but he knew by looking at Scarlet that she was inebriated enough that she just might open up to them if he asked her something personal. Hancock appeared to be more resistant to the effects of his flask, which he sipped on intermittently. He decided he would direct his questions at her, if he wanted the best chance of getting an honest answer.

 

He waited for a lull in the conversation, then spoke up, broaching the subject as gingerly as he could. “So,” he began, doing his best to keep his posture casual. “What's with that robot, anyway? You two know each other?”

 

The others poked their heads up and stared at her, anxiously awaiting her answer. Scarlet had given Codsworth several chores to do around the house when she left. She knew that if he hung around he was liable to reveal more than she was comfortable with, and she was happy that he wasn't there to spill the beans. The topic of her origin and her mission were bound to come up. Scarlet figured she owed them some answers, but wanted to control what pieces of the story she revealed and when.

 

She suddenly felt thrust into the spotlight, and looked around at their eager faces as she searched for the right thing to say. “It's...” she said, trying to sort out her thoughts in her intoxicated brain, “It's kind of a long, boring story. You guys probably don't wanna hear about it.”

 

“C'mon, kid,” Mama Murphy goaded. She was swaying a little in her seat, and her eyes had narrowed into slits. “Tell us. We ain't got nothin' but time.”

 

Scarlet glanced at Sturges, who ashed his cigarette into the fire and nodded his agreement. Marcy and Jun looked interested as well, sitting up in anticipation. Then she regarded the ghoul next to her, searching for his eyes as if to ask his permission to speak. He seemed unfazed by the subject being brought up, and gave her nothing but a casual nod.

 

“Well,” she began, nervously reaching into her breast pocket for a cigarette, “Codsworth and I know each other, yes.” The others waited for her to continue as she placed the filtered end of the cigarette in her mouth and lit it, sucking a hard drag before pulling it away. “You see that house,” she said, pointing her thumb briefly in its direction, “I used to live there. Before the bombs fell. Codsworth was my butler.”

 

Everyone seemed stunned by the admission. Everyone except Mama Murphy, that is, who smiled and nodded knowingly before easing back into her chair.

 

“You... were alive before the war?” Preston asked, with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

 

“Yeah,” Scarlet went on, fixating on the fire in order to avoid the stares of the settlers. “When the bombs fell, we – that is my husband, my son, and I – took shelter in vault 111, not far from here. We had a space reserved just in case. But when we got there, it turned out not to be just a normal fallout shelter.” She took a moment, inhaling another puff from her cigarette before continuing. “Vault-tech was using the place as a research facility. To discover the effects of cryogenic storage on humans. And we were their test subjects.”

 

“Cryogenic -” Preston began, with a faltering shake of his head, “So you mean, you were frozen?”

 

Scarlet nodded slowly. “Yeah, for more than two hundred years.”

 

“I'll be damned!” said Sturges with a whistle. “I ain't never met anyone from before the war who wasn't a ghoul.”

 

“Bullshit.” Marcy was holding onto the schnapps, and made a sour face as she took another drink. “You weren't alive before the war.”

 

“She ain't kiddin', honey,” Mama Murphy said to her sternly, before looking back at Scarlet. “I knew there was somethin' about you when I first saw you. And when we got here this morning I felt it. You're energy's tied to this place, kid.”

 

“It doesn't matter now,” said Scarlet, flicking the butt of her cigarette into the fire. “Someone from -” she stopped herself short of saying the Institute, and coughed to cover up her mistake. “Someone broke in while I was frozen and killed my husband, then kidnapped my son. They left me there. Probably thought I'd just go back to sleep and never wake up. Probably thought if I did wake up that I wouldn't survive a day out here. And I almost didn't. But here I am.”

 

“That's horrible,” Preston said, looking back into the flames. “I'm sorry you've had to go through all that.”

 

Scarlet shrugged her shoulders and leaned closer to the fire with a shiver. “It hasn't been easy. But I'm close to finding him, now.”

 

Hancock noticed her body's reaction to the cold and almost took off his coat to offer her, but frowned at the realization that someone might find it odd. Something about being unable to show Scarlet his affection made it that much more tempting to do so.

 

“You're not going to be staying in Sanctuary very long then, I take it?” Preston asked carefully.

 

“Long enough to repair that power armor. That could take a while, though.”

 

“I don't mind helpin' you fix it up,” offered Sturges.

 

“That'd be great,” Scarlet said, looking at him warmly. “I think we're gonna go look in the vault tomorrow, see if there's anything useful.”

 

“I know you've got places to go,” Preston interjected. “And I appreciate the help you've given us so far. But I have to ask...” The minuteman rolled his shoulders and swiveled on his stool, meeting Scarlet and Hancock with a serious gaze. “If you two are gonna be staying with us, we could really use your help fixing the place up. Establishing a new settlement.”

 

Hancock looked to the woman next to him as she absorbed Preston's request. Her eyebrows lowered thoughtfully, and she looked almost annoyed by the idea. She wasn't the kind of person to procrastinate when it came to searching for her son. In fact, Hancock usually had to pester her into slowing down enough to catch her breath. However, Scarlet was like him in the sense that she had a genuine interest in helping those who needed it. Even in the face of fear and apprehension, she found the courage to push through and do what was necessary. She hadn't shown the least bit of hesitation when it came to confronting the raiders that threatened these innocent settlers just yesterday.

 

But they were safe, now. The immediate danger had passed. And, judging by the abundance of pre-war loot that was still in the ruins, there wasn't likely to be another threat in the near future. She wrestled with her conscience in light of Preston's appeal for help. On one hand, she was anxious to fix up the T-45 and get moving just as soon as she could. On the other, these settlers were still woefully helpless. And as much as she wanted to lend them a hand, she didn't enjoy feeling like she was being emotionally blackmailed into it.

 

“You obviously know the area really well,” Preston went on, barring a response from her. Maybe he could butter her up with a little praise to get her to hang around. “And you're obviously good with pre-war tech. Sturges is a good mechanic, but I'd feel a lot better with someone like you helping him.”

 

Sturges bobbed his head up and down with a good-natured smile. “And the work'll go a lot faster with two heads instead 'a just one.”

 

Scarlet opened her mouth as if to respond, then shut it again, pulling back into her chair reticently.

 

“If we're gonna have a fighting chance, we at least need to get ourselves squared away with the basics,” said Preston, trying not to sound too earnest with his plea. “Fix up some places to sleep, a power source, some clean water, establish some crops. Maybe set up a few defenses. And if we can somehow put up a radio beacon, we can maybe recruit some more people who are also looking for a place to settle down.”

 

Hancock took another swig from his flask before leaning forward in his seat. It was clear that Scarlet didn't want to agree to anything that might keep her from leaving when she wanted. But staying in Sanctuary would extend the safety benefits of being with a group. He thought it only fair that while she repaired the suit that they lend a hand to the settlers as well.

 

“Don't worry about it, Garvey,” he said. Scarlet shot a wry look at him, but he gave her a steely glance in response. “We'll help you guys get set up. I'm sure we can find the time to help while we're here.”

 

“Thanks, John,” Scarlet said, low and harsh through a sarcastic smile.

 

Preston noted the acerbic exchange between the two of them and spoke quickly to change the subject, being satisfied with the ghoul's affirmation to help them. “I get why you're out here,” he said, nodding toward Scarlet. “But what's your interest in all this, Hancock?”

 

Scarlet cast an arrogantly expectant glance at the ghoul and crossed her arms. “Yeah, John, what _is_ your interest in all this?”

 

Preston instantly regretted bringing it up, noting the frigid atmosphere that had popped up between the two of them. He swallowed and looked at his feet, trying to shield himself from the unforseen tension.

 

Hancock glowered at Scarlet with narrowed eyes. It was more than apparent that she was irritated by the way he volunteered their assistance without her consent. He knew that she didn't suffer the same turmoil when it came to the nature of their relationship, and she tapped her foot against the grass with a spiteful sense of expectation.

 

“Well, Wolfie happened upon Goodneighbor when she got out of the vault,” he said, giving her one more sour smirk before turning back to Preston. “Poor thing would've died without my help.” He sat up straight and went on with a pompous air. “Figured it was my moral duty to make sure she didn't get killed while she went off to find her kid. Guess you could say I've got a soft spot for the helpless.”

 

Scarlet huffed at his backhanded insult. She suddenly felt a competitive urge to one-up him, and thoughtlessly blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

 

“He's my fiancee,” she said flatly.

 

All of the settlers aside from Mama Murphy, who had sunk further into her armchair, had a visible reaction to her admission. Marcy lifted a corner of her lip in what could only be construed as disgust while Jun awkwardly turned away. Sturges raised his eyebrows, and Preston cleared his throat.

 

Hancock was stunned into silence, and he sealed his lips together and bore into her with a look of untoward frustration.

 

“Oh...” Preston said, in light of the pause that followed. “That's, uh... congratulations, you two,” he stammered.

 

“Thank you,” Scarlet said proudly with an exaggerated smile. “And he's right. I would have died without his help. He saved my life more than once.”

 

“Doesn't mean you gotta marry him,” snapped Marcy. What little filter she possessed had disappeared with her growing intoxication, and she didn't seem at all hesitant about sharing her opinion. “There's plenty of _real_ men in the Commonwealth. You don't gotta settle for shacking up with a mutant.”

 

Scarlet's mouth fell open and she rose from her chair. Her hands were balled into fists, which were visibly shaking at her sides. But before she could say a word in his defense, Hancock jumped up, extending a protective arm in front of her. “I think it's about time we hit the hay,” he said swiftly. “C'mon Wolfie, let's go.”

 

“But... you...” Scarlet tried to protest as he took hold of her arm and spun her around, pointing her in the direction of her home.

 

“Thanks for the grub,” Hancock said over his shoulder. “We'll see ya in the morning.” And with that the two of them disappeared, leaving Preston scratching his head amidst everything the strange couple had told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys are enjoying this so far, I encourage you to help a girl out and chip in for a pair of new glasses that I desperately need. Even five bucks would be greatly appreciated! 
> 
> https://www.gofundme.com/glassesforstanzi


	4. It's okay to be sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, smut, angst.

“It doesn't look like anyone else has been here.”

 

Scarlet's soft voice echoed rather loudly as she and Hancock stepped off the elevator into the entrance of vault 111. Her eyes swept briefly over the floor, recognizing the remains that had been etched into her memory during her initial escape. Not even a speck of dust had been kicked up since she had left all those months ago, it seemed.

 

“Even if someone found this place, they wouldn't be able to get in without a pip-boy.” Hancock had his shotgun drawn, but let the barrel fall as he accepted Scarlet's assessment. The place was definitely lifeless, and the untouched body of a radroach in the middle of the floor was proof that there weren't any other creatures lurking nearby.

 

“We should start looking in the maintenance closets,” she said, holstering her pistol. “There should be some tools, and maybe some spare parts we can use.”

 

“Lead the way,” said Hancock. “You know these vaults better than I do.”

 

Scarlet nodded, then set off down the dimly-lit hallway in search of something useful. Hancock followed her closely while she made her way slowly through the vault, peeking through doorways and kicking away the debris in her path.

 

Even though her exit had been hasty, the route she had taken was ingrained firmly in her mind, and she stuck to the familiar path to avoid getting lost among the endless tunnels and passages. They happened by a janitor's closet first and stopped to explore it. Hancock wasn't sure exactly what she was looking for, and settled for standing guard in the doorway while she went through what appeared to be nothing but meaningless junk. Every now and again, though, she would hand him something to stuff into his pack, and he tried not to look too dubious at the bizarre assortment of items she was collecting.

 

Despite his efforts to conceal his uncertainty, Scarlet noted the way his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I know it doesn't look like much,” she said with a smile, rifling through the items on a shelf. “But a lot of this stuff can be scrapped for parts. Like this.” She held up a desk fan that was caked with dust. “You can use the steel frame to make something else. Like maybe an antenna. And you could probably re-purpose the motor to generate a little bit of electricity, or even power a little distillation unit.”

 

Hancock raised a hand in surrender. “I ain't gonna argue with ya.” She extended the fan towards him and he took it, testing its weight before placing it in the large sack he had brought. “Just try not to get too carried away. I can only carry so much.”

 

She lowered herself to her hands and knees and began poking through the bottom shelves of the closet. “Oh, this might be useful!” Scarlet reached for something tucked away in the corner. When she emerged, she held up a red and white box and gave it a vigorous shake to check its contents. “Abraxo cleaner.”

 

“You wanna mop the floors now?” Hancock teased.

 

“With a little basic chemistry, there's a lot you can do with it,” she smirked. “C'mon, I thought you were an expert on chems.”

 

“I only remember what I have to in order to get high,” he chortled. “The rest is in one ear and out the other.”

 

He caught the box of detergent as she tossed it to him, then she stood up and dusted her hands along her thighs. “Let's keep looking.”

 

They wound their way further into the vault. As they delved deeper, Hancock watched Scarlet's face, which had initially been alight with curiosity, slowly settle into a look of cloaked anxiety.

 

“What's wrong, Sunshine?”

 

Scarlet slowed to a halt in the middle of the hallway. “We're... getting close to the place where I was frozen,” she said softly, looking blankly ahead of her.

 

Hancock nodded in understanding. “We can turn around, if you want.”

 

She gave a confident shake of her head, then turned to face the ghoul who stood dutifully at her back. “We need to check out the cryo chambers. There's probably a refrigeration unit or a compressor I can scavenge from one of them.”

 

He smiled reassuringly back at her. “Whatever you wanna do,” he said amenably. “I'll be right behind you.”

 

She dipped her head, giving him a smile of thanks before turning back around and continuing down the hallway.

 

Eventually they came upon a long, narrow room, lined with individual cryo pods on either side. Their occupants had died long ago, their skeletons clearly visible through the glass. Scarlet made her way down the corridor slowly, glancing in either direction at the ominous visages of the corpses, the bodies of people she had once called neighbors. She tried to keep her wits about her, focusing on visually inspecting the machinery for something she could use. But there was a sickening twist in her stomach at the sight of so much death, and the bare skulls of her deceased compatriots haunted her every step.

 

She sighed in frustration. All of the machines had been deactivated long ago, and they had likely decayed into uselessness. Whether it was a power failure, short circuit, or even a deliberate sabotage, her fellow vault-dwellers had succumbed to their fate long before the intruders had broken in. A pang of dread seized her by the throat and she unconsciously raised her hand to her neck. The realization was beginning to hit her that she and Nate had been the only survivors. Her parched mouth struggled to swallow nothing as she made her way to the very end of the room, to where she and her husband had been.

 

His corpse was still there, stiff and frostbitten, perfectly preserved – the front of the unit was open, but by some glitch the cooling mechanism had continued to operate, freezing his lifeless body in time.

 

She looked over his body in the sullen stillness of the room. His brown eyes were wide open, frozen tears caking his stiff eyelashes. A bullet hole marred his temple. It was blacker than coal, but frosted over with pink crystals. It had sealed from the cold so quickly that there wasn't even time for a drop of blood to work its way out.

 

Waves of icy steam lapped over his chestnut hair and flowed down his rigid shoulders. His arms were stuck stiffly at his sides. His skin was tinged with the whiteness of death, his blue lips glued together with their own saliva.

 

Scarlet doubled over and stumbled to the side. The steady nausea that had been rising in her throat finally overtook her, and she retched and heaved noisily while steadying herself against the control panel of Nate's cryo pod.

 

She hadn't eaten anything that morning, and nothing but a little water and bile came up. Hancock rubbed a soothing hand along her back as he waited for her to finish. As she stood up and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, he reached for a can of purified water from his pack and held it out to her.

 

Scarlet shook her head and held up her palm, rubbing her stomach with the other hand and swallowing a burp. “I'm okay,” she said hoarsely.

 

Hancock frowned and put the water in his pocket. He remained where he was, offering her enough room to breathe in light of her sudden queasiness. All of the rosiness had gone from her cheeks, replaced by a foul green tint.

 

But she shook her shoulders and regained her composure. Without a word she set about examining the cryo pod, pushing Nate's arm to the side to access a panel in the back.

 

“Gimme that screwdriver we found,” she said. Hancock wordlessly obeyed, cringing at the painful crack of her voice that rose up beneath her decisive tone.

 

She set to work with a scowl, removing a large portion of steel to reveal a confusing tangle of wires. Setting the panel to the side, she dug into the pod's inner workings, looking for whatever it was she needed with vigorous determination.

 

A few minutes went by before Hancock spoke. “You know,” he said, as gently as he could manage, “It's okay to be sad that he's gone.”

 

Scarlet paused almost imperceptibly, but quickly went back to her task. She didn't want to think about it. Not now. She would think about it another day.

 

But Hancock wasn't buying her attempt at indifference. He knew she'd rather suppress her grief, yet it would only hurt her in the long run. “I know you two weren't exactly lovey-dovey. But you were with him for a long time. You had a kid with him. It's okay to miss him, you know.”

 

“I know,” she said tersely, grunting as she worked to free one of the pod's internal components.

 

“If you want, we can bury his body. Give him a real funeral.”

 

She gritted her teeth and yanked, extracting a small, rectangular component from deep in the pod's guts. She took a step back and held the object up to the light before tossing it to Hancock, who caught it one-handed. “No,” she said definitively, running her eyes over Nate's corpse one more time before turning away. “If somebody else comes down here, I want them to see this.” She turned her head to one side, then the other, giving the room a final once-over. “All of this. I want them to see what these bastards at Vault-tech did to us. I want them to know what kinds of monsters they were. That they kidnapped us, froze us. That they promised us protection and instead left us here to die.” Scarlet looked into Hancock's face, a tight sneer warping her mouth, her eyes seething with unresolved malice. “I want them to know what the Institute did to my family.”

 

Hancock couldn't find the words if he tried. More than anything else he wished he could undo everything that had happened to her, even if it meant that they would never meet. Scarlet wasn't made for this world. It had been forced upon her by circumstance. As admirable as her resolve may have been in the face of it all, deep down, she was as fragile as a wounded sparrow. He cursed fate for what it had done to this poor woman, and cursed himself for his inability to solve her problems.

 

But for good or ill, here she was, facing her living hell with a stiff upper lip. His heart swelled with a mixture of pride and regret. Even her dead husband's corpse couldn't distract her from her purpose. She wasn't going to let her memories, no matter how painful, stand in the way of what needed to be done.

 

“Come on. Let's go,” she said.

 

Hancock nodded and turned on his heel, shouldering his pack and looking at his feet, ignoring the cloud of death that surrounded him.

 

Scarlet started after him but hesitated. She glanced to either side, as if to make sure no one else was watching. As the ghoul continued meandering back to the vault's main hallway, she paused. Nate's body still lay there, stiff as a board against the back of the cryogenic chamber. The sparkle of the gold band around his left ring finger caught her eye. As deftly as she could manage, she pried the band off of his frozen hand and slipped it into her pocket, then scurried after Hancock back into the vault.

 

* * *

 

 

Scarlet straddled Hancock's lap, grinding against his erection. She attacked him almost as soon as they walked in the door, and he fell back onto the couch, sporting a pleased grin at her sudden advance.

 

The events of that day had worn Scarlet down until she was an emotional wreck. After they had gathered everything worth carrying from vault 111, the two spent the afternoon helping the settlers go through the ruins of Sanctuary. Both Sturges and Scarlet agreed that before they began any kind of serious work, they ought to take inventory of what was available.

 

But Marcy's snide remarks coupled with the lingering memory of what she had seen in the vault grated on her to the point she thought she would scream. When the sun finally began to set and everyone was turning in for the night, she was almost ravenous for Hancock's affection.

 

“What do you want from me, Sunshine?” he asked her amid her heated kisses, running his hands along her back.

 

“I want you to fuck me senseless.” She whipped her shirt up and over her head, throwing it across the room before clamping her teeth down around his neck.

 

Hancock hissed as he grabbed her around the waist, closing his eyes and soaking in the exquisite sting of her teeth sinking into his flesh. The heat that emanated from between her thighs made his cock ache to be inside her, and it wasn't long before he had her flat on her back, devouring her dripping pussy while he stripped off his clothing.

 

Scarlet dug her fingernails into the arm of the sofa, trying to steady herself while he wrapped his arms around her thighs. He alternated teasing her clit with the tip of his tongue and thrusting it into her center with relish, and the extremes between the two sensations wound her up until she was begging him for more.

 

“Fuck me, John, fuck me, please,” she exhaled, struggling to stay quiet. He would easily make her come if he kept going, but she was crazy with need to feel him pulsating in her core, to feel the head of his cock forcing itself against her cervix, to feel her walls clenching over his fullness.

 

Hancock pried his mouth away from her pussy and bent over her quivering frame. He kissed her panting mouth, his saliva tinted with the taste of her own fluids. Then, spreading his palm over her upper thigh, he held her in place as he penetrated her, pushing until he could go no further.

 

Scarlet gasped as her inner walls stretched to accommodate his massive girth. No matter how many times he entered her, his size always seemed to be intoxicatingly overwhelming. Her head swam and she almost felt as if she would lose consciousness at the sensation of his head pressing against her womb. But as he withdrew she let out a pitiful whimper, feeling empty by the loss of his throbbing cock deep within.

 

When he entered her again, she responded by wrapping her legs around his waist, holding him inside while she swept her tongue into his mouth. He groaned as he attempted to pull away, his retreat met with the resistance of the vice-like grip of her thighs.

 

After a few more seconds of forcing his cock to stay buried in her depths, she finally relented, allowing him to withdraw until only his head was left inside. He tore himself away from her mouth and planted his lips around one of her nipples, sucking at it fervently while he pushed his cock completely into her once more.

 

Hancock began fucking her slowly but steadily, moving in and out with a fluid and continuous rocking of his hips. He sucked voraciously at her nipple, taking as much of her breast into his mouth as he could before releasing it and moving onto the other. Scarlet let go of the armrest and laid her palms on his back. Without warning she pressed until her nails were poking into his skin – the wounds on his back from the minigun were still tender, and he tossed his head back with an angry roar before re-planting his mouth on her collarbone.

 

The pace of his hips was merciless while he tore at her skin with his teeth. Scarlet kept up the pressure of her fingers against his back, knowing full well that she was causing him pain. Each time her nails raked his skin he intensified his thrusts, tightened his grip around her hips, made him suck in whichever piece of skin he had between his lips. She loved the response she was drawing out of him, and relished the control she had even as she succumbed to his insatiable desire.

 

“Fuck... John... I'm coming...”

 

Scarlet's arduous pants drifted up and over his face. Even in the near pitch-blackness of the room he could see the whites of her eyes as she looked up at him, her wide expression being overtaken by the sheer pleasure of his relentless onslaught. She pulled his face closer to hers as she came, meeting every thrust of his with one of her own until their bodies were slamming against one another. His eyes were like blotches of ink as she struggled to discern them against the scant light, but she could see them, serious and unblinking as he watched her being hit by each consecutive pulse of ecstasy.

 

Hancock responded to the signals of her body. As the grip of her legs began to release, the force of her thrusts less vigorous, and the slicing of her fingernails gave way to gentle caresses, he slowed his pace, resting himself within her twitching core. He swept a hand over her face before leaning down for a kiss.

 

“Please...” Scarlet's voice was throaty and sensual as she implored him. “Please, don't stop. Fuck me.”

 

Hancock bade her request without a second thought. He stood up and lifted her limp frame from the couch. Then he flipped her over, planting her knees against the cushions while draping her torso over the back. All she could see in front her were the black silhouettes of the furniture against the midnight-blue of her surroundings. She tensely awaited Hancock's next move. He had broken contact with her completely, and she was only aware of his continued presence by the deep rumble of his breaths.

 

A splintering crack filled the air following the sharp contact of his hand upon her ass. She squealed in a combination of pain and delight, and nearly collapsed when he replanted his cock inside of her. “God, yes...” Scarlet clutched the back of the couch for dear life while he pummeled her from behind, bracing his palm on her shoulder to steady himself. “Fuck me harder. Fuck me 'til it hurts.”

 

Hancock latched the other palm around her hip and pulled her down over his shaft along with each push of his hips. He felt the resistance of her own body from within, but continued relentlessly and unrestrained amidst her cries for more. Soon her face was buried in the dusty fabric of the sofa, and her muffled moans rose higher and higher until they crested and finally fell following another release.

 

He couldn't contain himself against the overwhelming force of her climax, Shortly after she came, he followed, barely managing to pull out before shooting his load over her ass.

 

Scarlet smiled as she felt the warmth of his seed on the coolness of her skin. She lifted her head with some effort to look over her shoulder at him, barely making out his taught, heaving torso in the darkness. As he descended from the heights of his pleasure, he released his hand from her shoulder and slid it beneath her throat, drawing her back to his chest. Then he kissed her, soft and sweet, silently offering his gratitude for the satisfaction she had given him.

 

Eventually they made their way to the bedroom, with Scarlet having the sense to finally use a lantern. She donned a pair of lacy underwear and a lightly lined bra. She felt more comfortable sleeping while wearing something, insisting that she couldn't sleep if her 'girls' were loose. John, on the other hand, preferred to sleep completely naked, and was already under the covers as he watched her slipping on her lingerie.

 

“Damn, you're beautiful.”

 

His unbridled praise made her blush from head to toe, though he probably couldn't tell. But she bit her lower lip and averted her eyes as she often did when he complimented her. “Don't you look away from me,” he scolded. “C'mere.” He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, and motioned for her to come join him.

 

“Give me a second,” she said shyly. “I gotta go get something, I'll be right back.”

 

Scarlet scampered out of the bedroom. John sighed contentedly and let his eyes rest on the doorway, waiting for her to reappear. A minute later she returned and crawled into bed next to him, a syringe of med-ex and a strip of elastic in her hand.

 

“You still hurtin'?” he asked, watching with mild concern as she sat up beside him.

 

“Honestly, after today, I just need something to help me sleep.” She held one end of the band in her teeth, then wrapped the other around her left arm twice before tying it off. Then she opened and closed her fist several times, poking at the crease of her elbow in search of a vein.

 

“I don't blame ya,” said Hancock with a yawn. He relaxed against the pillow and ran a comforting hand along her leg. “Just don't go too crazy with that stuff, okay?”

 

“Trust me,” she said, holding the syringe up to her face for a brief examination. “I'm the soul of caution.”

 

Scarlet inserted the needle into her arm, giving a small chirp of discomfort as it punctured the skin. As she pushed down on the plunger and the medication began swimming through her veins, she practically melted back onto the bed, barley managing to toss the needle aside before falling listlessly into John's waiting embrace.

 

“Good night, Sunshine,” he whispered.

 

“Hmmm....” She was already too far gone to answer. Her mind had been wiped clean, and all she could feel was a euphoric void that enveloped her consciousness. In seconds she was snoring quietly, safe and warm in John's arms, lost in a dreamless slumber.


	5. Dogmeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogmeat finally makes his appearance!

“If that bitch doesn't stop staring at us I swear I'm gonna kill her in her sleep.”

 

Scarlet had caught Marcy glaring at her and Hancock again, and she returned the woman's gaze with equal venom.

 

“There's a reason I didn't wanna tell anyone.” The ghoul held the generator steady while Scarlet gripped a wrench with both hands, throwing her whole body into tightening a bolt.

 

Having secured it to her satisfaction, Scarlet released her hold, her tired arms falling limply to her sides. “That should do it,” she said with finality. “Now let's see if it works.”

 

It wasn't a pretty piece of machinery; she and Sturges had cobbled together a generator using several car batteries and a disassembled lawn mower. It needed gas to run, albeit very little, and it would be able to store quite a bit of power between fill-ups. For the purposes of powering Sanctuary, it would suffice.

 

Hancock took a step back as Scarlet prepared to fire it up. She took hold of the cord with one hand and placed the other against the top, which was nothing more than the shell of a barbeque that had been slapped over it for protection. She pulled back sharply once, then again, then a third time. But each attempt was answered with a lifeless rotation of the engine, and Scarlet growled her displeasure.

 

“Here, let me.” Hancock nudged her aside and took the cord from her hands. She backed up a little, giving him ample room as he yanked it to the side.

 

But his efforts also proved fruitless, and each jerk of the cord was met with the same disappointing silence. “C'mon, you son of a bitch...” he grunted, as he tried over and over to start it.

 

Just as Scarlet thought she would break down in tears, the engine rumbled. The frame of the generator shook as it sputtered to life, coughing a couple of times but ultimately evening out until it was running just as smoothly as they could have hoped.

 

“It works!” she shouted. Scarlet jumped up and down and clapped her hands, overcome by their victory. Hancock leaned casually against the machine, wearing a cocky grin as if he had known all along that it would run.

 

“Is that a generator I hear?!” Sturges shouted from down the road. He came barreling towards them, with a face that Scarlet could only compare to the look of a child bounding down the steps on Christmas morning.

 

“It works!” she yelled back to him, waving her hat in the air.

 

“I'll be damned!” The mechanic stopped just short of running into her. He was smiling broadly, even as he leaned his hands on his knees while he tried to catch his breath. “I almost can't believe it.”

 

“Me neither!” Scarlet spun around in place before securing her hat back on her head. “It might not be pretty, and it might not be powerful, but it fucking _works!”_

 

“See what you can do with a little ingenuity and elbow grease?” Sturges said, standing back upright.

 

“I'll admit, I had my doubts.” Scarlet crossed her arms and shook her head, but couldn't stop smiling as she gazed proudly at the machine. “You really know your way around a combustion engine.”

 

“Give yourself some credit, too, young lady.” Sturges placed his hands on his hips and gave her an encouraging wink. “Modifying a gas engine to power an electric motor was a stroke of pure genius. We'll be able to keep this baby running with a fraction of the fuel.”

 

She looked down at her feet and kicked her toe through the dirt, beaming all the while. “I guess it was a pretty good idea,” she said sheepishly.

 

Hancock tried not to laugh as the two bantered back and forth, each one modestly dodging the praise of the other. Eventually Preston approached the three of them, looking pleased, if not as exhilarated as Sturges had been.

 

“We have power, Preston!” Scarlet said triumphantly, gesturing to the generator proudly with both hands.

 

“I can see that.” The man paced in a slow circle around it, a rare smile tugging at his mouth. He had shed his duster in the midday heat, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled tightly around his muscular forearms. After a brief assessment he stopped and placed his hands on his hips. “This is pretty amazing. Having a power source is gonna solve a lot of problems.” Scarlet and Sturges shared an accomplished look at his words of approval.

 

“Now that that's taken care of, we've got another problem.”

 

Scarlet was visibly shattered at having her moment of victory cut short. Preston noticed her sinking expression and continued, trying to keep his tone upbeat. “This is a great start. But along with power, we're gonna need a reliable source of food if we're going to survive out here.”

 

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, rather atonally.

 

“Well we can't survive on mole rats and two hundred year old Salisbury steaks for very long. We need to think long term. The sooner we get some crops in the ground, the sooner we can have a respectable farm.”

 

Sturges folded his arms and clucked his tongue. “Too bad we left all our seed in Lexington. We're gonna have a hell of a time trying to replace it.”

 

“If you can get a hold of one of those traveling trade caravans you'll be in business,” chimed in Hancock.

 

“My thoughts exactly,” said Preston. “Only problem is making that initial contact. But once we do, we can hash out a deal to add Sanctuary to their regular route.”

 

“You think we might have some luck if we set up a radio beacon?” said Sturges, stroking his chin with his gloved hand.

 

“It's definitely worth a try.”

 

The three of them discussed their options and possible next steps, but Scarlet was lost in thought. She recalled her first day out of the vault, running aimlessly toward the ruins of Boston in search of civilization. Before she had even made it halfway to the city, there were people who had apparently set up shop in an old diner along the highway. Her initial encounter with them hadn't been pleasant, but she had successfully avoided conflict. And now, armed and armored, she felt a lot more confident about seeing them again.

 

She respectfully waited for a break in the conversation before speaking up. “You know, if you're looking for traders, I'm pretty sure there's some just south of here,” she said timidly. The three men looked at her in anticipation, and she was suddenly nervous as she continued. “When I left the vault, there were some people at the Drumlin Diner. They were friendly.” She paused, reconsidering her choice of words. “At least, they didn't try to kill me when they saw me.”

 

“They're the ones that told you to go to Diamond City, right?” Hancock asked, jogging his own memory of what she had told him.

 

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “Their setup looked like it was pretty permanent. They're probably still there.”

 

“If there's an established trader out here, then they must have some kind of correspondence with the trade caravans,” said Preston. “You remember how to get there?”

 

Scarlet had already begun looking at her pip-boy's map. She zoomed on on the area, trying to recall the direction she had gone after her initial flight. “I'm pretty sure,” she said, squinting into the green light of the screen. “I know the general area, at least.”

 

“If you're feeling up to it, maybe you can try to find the place,” Preston suggested.

 

Scarlet nodded vigorously. “Not a problem. I'd be happy to help.”

 

“You want us to head out now?” asked Hancock.

 

Preston arched an eyebrow at the ghoul, raising his hand with authority. “Whoa now, we don't need to send two people out just to meet up with some traders.” Hancock narrowed his eyes at him, but allowed him to continue. “There's a lot that needs doing around here. Wolf can go make contact, but it'd be a lot more helpful if you stayed here.”

 

Hancock looked over at Scarlet, and she at him, the wheels turning in both of their heads as they weighed their options. The ghoul was less than thrilled at the thought of her going off alone, and was eager for an alternative. “I can go,” he said. “Just point me in the right direction.”

 

“It'll be a lot easier and a lot quicker if I go,” Scarlet said with surprising firmness. “Besides, I built up a little rapport with them the last time we met.”

 

Hancock looked like he was about to protest, but the minuteman spoke before he could argue. “That settles it. If you leave now, do you think you can be back by nightfall?”

 

Scarlet nodded with enthusiasm. “No problem.”

 

“Get what you need then, and meet me up at the workshop when you're ready to go. I'll pack up some stuff you can take along for trade.”

 

They shared a few short words of affirmation. And with that, Preston and Sturges turned and headed up the hill, leaving Scarlet and Hancock standing alone next the generator.

 

Hancock's face hardened into a scowl as he turned toward Scarlet. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he asked, with a little more anger than he had intended.

 

“What do you mean?” she asked. Her genuine puzzlement would have been cute if the situation weren't so serious.

 

“You can't run off into the Commonwealth alone. It's dangerous out there.”

 

Scarlet smiled at him in a way he found to be irritatingly condescending. “It's not that far from here,” she said lightly. “I think I can get there and back without getting killed.”

 

He huffed, pacing over to the side of a nearby house as he considered what to say. “I know you're a lot tougher than you used to be, Sunshine.” He stopped in his tracks, taking a deep, centering breath before sauntering back to her. “But there's no reason for you to be puttin' yourself at risk if you don't need to.”

 

Scarlet put her hands squarely on her hips. “I took care of those raiders at Concord by myself, remember?”

 

“That was different,” he snapped, thrusting his hands in his pockets and looking away. “You had a suit of power armor between you and them.” He resumed his paces, kicking up an angry cloud of dust as he did.

 

“And I also had a gun I barely knew how to use,” she countered. “I think I'll be alright in just my leather armor with my laser pistol.”

 

“And what if you run into trouble on the way there, huh?”

 

“I won't,” she snapped. “But if I do, I'll come straight back here. Is that okay with you?”

 

He was unimpressed with her scathing sarcasm in the face of his concern. He took long, purposeful strides back until he stood right in front of her. Then he grabbed her by the hand, so forcefully that she let out a squeak of surprise. “I promised you I wasn't gonna leave you!” He held up her arm, drawing her attention to the piece of the flag knotted around her wrist. “I swore to protect you. You cried when you thought I might leave you. And now you're ready to risk your life and leave me behind just so you can impress all these people?”

 

“It's not about them!” she shouted, ripping her hand away. “It's about the fact that for once, I can do something useful, and I've got the skills to do it on my own.”

 

“Just cause you _can_ do something doesn't mean you _should_. You're gonna get yourself killed just to prove a point?”

 

“I'm not gonna get myself killed! I don't need you there to watch my every move.”

 

“What if you run across another deathclaw? You gonna be this confident then?”

 

Scarlet balked, her voice shaking with disbelief. “What is this about, really?” She took a step closer to him, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “You think if I go do something on my own, without you, that I might realize I don't need you anymore?”

 

It was plain by the look on his face that her words had struck him. His indignant glare evaporated, and it was replaced by a wide-eyed stare full of hurt and betrayal. She almost immediately regretted what she had said.

 

Quickly she extended a sympathetic hand and placed it tenderly against his sleeve. “I didn't mean... It's just that-”

 

Suddenly, she found herself crushed in the power of his embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around her back as he pulled her in, drawing her head against his shoulder. His mouth nestled next to her ear, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. “I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you, Sunshine.”

 

Scarlet's hands hovered at her sides, her arms bound against her by his own. The whisper in her ear carried the sour note of desperation, along with a quiver of fear. For several moments he clung to her, his eyes shut tight as he breathed in the scent of her hair. And for her part, she could do nothing but stand there, stunned, absorbing the anguish that had overcome him.

 

Finally he relaxed his hold enough for her to return his embrace. She snaked her hands beneath his coat and around his waist, leaning into his ear with a soothing whisper. “I've said this before, John, but... you can't control everything that happens to me.”

 

Hancock pulled away from her, laying one hand gently upon her shoulder as he cupped her face with the other. He took a moment to regard her loveliness, the angelic glow of her skin, the sparkle of her eyes behind her glasses. Indeed, he had vowed to protect her, almost as soon as she had landed on his doorstep. He had sworn to ensure her survival in the face of whatever threatened her.

 

But part of ensuring her survival meant giving her the skills, and the confidence, to make it on her own. The last thing he wanted was for Scarlet to become dependent on him. Each day began with the same uncertainties, the same challenges, the same, ever-present threat of death that could claim him at any moment. She could wake up the next morning and find him gone. She could watch him fall in a gunfight and never get up again. She could watch him tumble right over the edge of a cliff.

 

But Shaun would still be there. He would still need his mother to come after him. And Hancock couldn't let something as trivial as his death be the thing that kept her from being reunited with her son.

 

He had freely opened her up to perilous situations before, like when she fought those hired thugs in the Dugout Inn, or had explored Trinity Tower with him, or had stormed Fort Hagen and faced down Kellogg. But this was different. Before, he had always been there, ready to rescue her in case things went wrong. This time, however, there would be no one around if something happened. She would only have herself to depend on to get her out of trouble. And even though he knew, rationally, that she was capable, the thought terrified him more than anything else in his life.

 

He wasn't like Scarlet, who had a tendency to become temperamental and emotional at the drop of a hat, yet who made each decision as a carefully calculated risk. He was cool under pressure and kept his head when shit hit the fan, but he made most of his decisions, every decision in fact up until this point, with his gut. His gut told him not to let her go. His gut told him to make her stay behind in Sanctuary while he went in search of the traders. His gut told him to tie her up if he had to, if it meant that she wouldn't take off on her own.

 

Yet, in that moment, he realized it was time to stop letting his gut do all the decision-making for him. It might serve him well in the thick of battle or in the throes of lovemaking, but not here, not now. She needed the experience as much as the settlers needed a trade route. Rationally, he knew that he should let her go.

 

“I know,” he finally said. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and his words draped like silk upon her mouth. “I know I can't control everything that happens to you. I know that the wasteland is bigger than the both of us. All it takes is one wrong step and I'm... blown to bits by a land mine, or one missed shot and I'm beaten to death by a super mutant. There's almost nothing in this world that I can control.” He paused, cracking a smile that displayed a combination of cynicism and surrender. “And I definitely can't control you.”

 

Scarlet frowned at him sympathetically. “I understand,” she murmured gently. “I know you're just trying to look out for me. And I _appreciate_ that John, truly.” She removed the palm he had lain against her cheek and brought it down to her shoulder. “And I'm scared shitless to be without you. But I have to do this. I have to prove to myself that I'm capable of handling something like this. And I wanna prove it to you, too.”

 

With steady hands she reached around his neck, pulling his face down until his forehead rested upon hers. “You've asked me to trust you before. Now I'm asking _you_ to trust _me._ Let me go. Let me do this on my own.”

 

The harshness of their words gave way to tenderness as they stood there, and Hancock allowed peace to take over. A warm breeze caught the edges of his coat, softly stirring the silence that surrounded them. For a few minutes they remained there, calm and steadfast, until Scarlet pulled away from him.

 

She looked into his eyes with conviction and self-assuredness, quelling his doubts with the courage in her voice. “I'll go there. Meet up with those traders. Work out a deal. And I promise,” she said, grabbing him firmly by the lapel. “I _promise_ I'll come back to you.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hancock and Preston sat somberly next to a small fire. The daylight was beginning to fade, and Scarlet hadn't returned. While the other settlers tucked into their dinner, the ghoul found himself without an appetite, and decided to go to the hilltop at the edge of town and keep watch for her. He lit a fire thinking it might help her find her way back if she had gotten lost, even though it was unlikely for her to lose her way with her pip-boy.

 

Preston had joined him, primarily out of guilt. The argument that had popped up after he had tasked her with finding the traders was loud enough to be heard across the ruins. The ghoul hadn't wanted to let her go alone. She had insisted in spite of his protests, but the minuteman still felt responsible for sending her away, and as the sun descended lower with each passing minute, he was deeply regretting his decision.

 

“Hey, Hancock,” he began, breaking the awkward silence that stretched between them. “I didn't mean to put Wolf in harm's way. That wasn't my intention when I asked her to go.” He glanced at the ghoul, who was staring absently over the darkening landscape. “I just didn't see the sense in sending two people to do something one person could accomplish.”

 

Hancock bobbed his head once. He was tired on top of being worried; Preston had put him to work gathering materials and building the framework for a sentry post. And as fit as he was, he was unused to the grind of manual labor. He stretched his aching muscles, his mouth gaping with a wide yawn. “I know,” he said coolly, squinting his eyes in search of any distant movement. “It ain't your fault. She woulda left anyway.” He fished in his pocket for a cigarette, letting out a wry chuckle as he lit it. “She might come off all sweet and polite, but that woman's definitely got a mind of her own, and she's not afraid to tell you what's on it.”

 

Preston made a small grunt of confirmation, then began poking idly at the glowing embers with the end of a tree branch. “So...” The minuteman cleared his throat and tried to spark up some conversation to pass the time. “How long have you two been... together?”

 

Hancock chortled through a puff of smoke. “What, you mean like hangin' out in the same place, or do you mean like fuckin'?”

 

Preston was caught unaware by the response, and his dark skin flushed even deeper. “I mean... uh... that is...” he stammered.

 

Hancock's raspy voice erupted with laughter, and he leaned in and nudged the man with his elbow. “Shit, Garvey, you need to relax!” Preston smiled sheepishly, embarrassed by his own rigidity. The ghoul's laughter slowly faded, and he took another drag of his cigarette before answering his original question. “We've been together practically since she got out of the vault. I wanna say three, four months ago?” He glanced upward, trying to think back on the time that had elapsed. “She was amin' for Diamond City, but wound up in Goodneighbor instead. She was pretty beat up by the time she got there. For a minute I thought she was gonna die, she lost so much blood.” Hancock shuddered involuntarily at the thought, then paused to ash his cigarette. “But she pulled through. So I helped her out. Gave her a place to stay. It was a pretty standard thing, really. I'd helped dozens of other people before, doing the same shit. Fixing them up, helping them get back on their feet. But even from the beginning...” Hancock's voice lowered, and his gaze turned thoughtfully into the fire. “Even from the beginning, it was kinda obvious that she wasn't just another 'standard thing.' I helped her out, fixed her up, got her on her feet. But when it came time for her to leave, go out and find her kid, well... I found out I couldn't let her go.”

 

He took one more deep drag before flicking his cigarette into the grass, redirecting his eyes toward the horizon. Preston nodded quietly. Their relationship was clearly intense, and the way he talked about her was so sweet that even the stoic minuteman felt a lump forming in his throat. “So have you guys been on the road since then?”

 

“Well, we've had a few major setbacks,” he said dryly. “More than a few. But she's determined. And also pretty fuckin' impatient,” he added with a smile. “She wasn't too excited about sticking around here longer than she had to.”

 

“I know it's asking a lot,” Preston relented. “And trust me, I wouldn't have asked if the situation wasn't so dire.”

 

“I understand. But don't worry about it, she can spare a couple extra days to lend a hand. She may not know who the Minutemen are, but I do, and it's worth takin' the time to help you guys. Besides, she needs to take a break every now and then. Sometimes I think she wouldn't sleep unless I was there to tell her.”

 

“Well it really means a lot to me. To us,” he said, looking at the ghoul with gratitude. “Between scavenging the vault and setting up that generator, you two have been amazing. I don't know where we'd be if we hadn't crossed paths.”

 

“Hmph. Probably dead in that museum.”

 

“We definitely wouldn't be sitting here, that's for sure.” He sighed, leaning back on his hands. “Just so you know, if you guys need help down the road, we'll do whatever we can.”

 

Hancock gave the man a cursory nod. “I appreciate that, Garvey.”

 

“We all owe you a debt. Even Marcy, though she's probably too stubborn to admit it.”

 

Hancock smiled and shook his head at the mention of her name. “There's a reason I don't like tellin' people about us. I told Wolfie it'd be trouble. But she didn't grow up out here. She doesn't get what it means for a smoothskin and a ghoul to be... involved. It's kinda cute, in a way. But bein' a ghoul doesn't make me very popular outside of Goodneighbor. And even just us traveling together makes her guilty by association.”

 

“That's not fair for people to judge you two like that, though.”

 

“It ain't exactly fair,” he said, lighting up another smoke. “But it's the way things are.”

 

“I'll admit, seeing you two together is something new to me. But it's hard living out here in the Commonwealth. If two people can find happiness, they should take it. You guys deserve it just as much as anyone else.”

 

Hancock was unexpectedly touched by his words, and he looked at the man and smiled, his eyes sparkling with kindness. “You know what?” he said, gesturing at him with his cigarette, “You're alright, Garvey.”

 

Preston tipped his hat in response. He stifled the urge to grin, keeping his expression limited to a pleasant smirk.

 

“Hold on, I think I see somethin'...”

 

Hancock stood abruptly and squinted into the encroaching twilight. There was a speck of movement in the distance, and as it made its way closer, he began beaming irrepressibly at what he saw.

 

Preston stood up next to him, following his line of sight. He sighed heavily, the relief of Scarlet's arrival purging him of his nagging guilt.

 

But there was someone else. Another dark speck stood out against the landscape, following her at a healthy distance.

 

 _Not someone. Some_ thing.

 

It weaved back and forth in a serpentine fashion as it tailed her, loping along on four legs and pausing every now and again to stick its nose into the air.

 

“What the hell...” Hancock swiftly removed his shotgun from his hip and cocked it. He looked down his sights at the creature, straining to make out exactly what it was.

 

_A dog?_

 

The Commonwealth was teeming with rabid mongrels. Without missing a beat, the ghoul took off down the hill towards Scarlet, prepared to defend her against the beast that stalked her.

 

“Wolfie!”

 

Scarlet saw him careening toward her, completely oblivious to his frenzied urgency.

 

“John!” She smiled happily and waved at him, quickening her pace only slightly as she casually went to greet him.

 

With the setting sun against his back, she didn't notice that he had drawn his gun until he had jumped into the river. The water only came up to his ankles even at its deepest, but the current tugged at his feet and he struggled against it as he fought to get closer.

 

She knitted her eyebrows curiously in light of Hancock's mounting panic. It didn't immediately occur to her that the dog she had found on the way back would be seen as a threat. But as he climbed onto the other side of the river, his soggy boots squelching against the grass, she jogged over to meet him with a disarming wave of her hands.

 

“Hey, don't-”

 

Her words were cut short by the explosion of his shotgun. He had the barrel pointed in the air, attempting to frighten the animal or otherwise flush it out of the bushes. Having finally reached her, Hancock siezed her by the arm and pulled her towards him, taking a protective step in front of her as he peered down his sights.

 

“There's somethin' tailing ya!” he growled.

 

“I know, John, it's-”

 

Another gunshot boomed into the air, and she instinctively threw her hands over her ears.

 

Hancock cracked open the barrel and feverishly began reloading his weapon. He already had it raised and ready to fire by the time she had an opportunity to react.

 

“John, stop!” Scarlet screeched, thrusting her body into the line of fire.

 

He ignored her pleas and shouldered her aside. “There's a fucking dog after ya, Wolfie!” he shouted.

 

“I know!” she shrieked, latching onto the sleeve of his coat and attempting to pull back his arm.

 

“Huh?” He fought half-heartedly against Scarlet's grip, taken aback by her statement, but still keyed up to defend her against the animal.

 

“I know about the dog!” Scarlet pushed against him in frustration, throwing him slightly off balance. “I found him at the gas station!”

 

Hancock stood there, staring in bewilderment at her. Scarlet grunted and shot him a dirty glare as she ran off the way she had come, annoyed by his assumption. “You probably scared him off!” She snapped over her shoulder. The ghoul let his weapon fall to his hip as he watched her. She ran back and forth, whistling and slapping a palm against her thigh. “Come here boy!” she said in a high-pitched voice, struggling to keep her words even in between her gasps for breath. “Come on, it's alright!”

 

Hancock abashedly holstered his gun, suddenly self-conscious of the hasty way he had reacted. “You uh, you found a dog?” he asked timidly, approaching her with cautious steps.

 

“Yes!” she said with an exasperated flail of her arms. “He's all alone, scared, so thin he's nothing but bones and fur. And I'm pretty sure he's injured, too!”

 

“Hey, look, I'm sorry!” he said defensively. “There's a lot of rabid dogs out here. How was I supposed to know?”

 

“It's alright,” she groaned. “Just help me look for him, okay?”

 

She resumed whistling, gently entreating the animal to come back as she clambered through the brush. Hancock kept his eyes peeled but otherwise remained quiet, listening for a rustle in the undergrowth as he stepped beneath a cluster of dead trees.

 

Scarlet kept calling, growing perceptibly frantic as the search wore on for several more minutes. But eventually, a piercing whine could be heard between her whistles, and she jumped at the sound.

 

“It's alright boy! I'm coming!” She took off in the direction of the noise, straining her ears for another fix on his location. He whimpered again as she drew near, and was practically crying when she finally found him crouching behind a fallen log.

 

Hancock maintained a respectable distance from the two of them, watching Scarlet with fondness as she comforted the creature.

 

“It's alright, baby, you're safe now!” she crooned. He sat up on his haunches and she hugged him, ruffling the fur between his shoulder blades.

 

Hancock inched his way closer. It was difficult to see anything, now that the sun had finally disappeared behind the skyline. But from what he could assess, she wasn't exaggerating about the creature's condition. His ears were pointed back and pressed against his head, and as Scarlet coaxed him to follow her, he kept his tail tucked firmly between his legs. He was very thin, almost skeletal, and one of his hind legs bounced with a slight limp as he walked.

 

“Come here!” she whispered, crouching down and scooping her hand through the air. “Come meet John.”

 

The ghoul stooped down, squatting a couple feet away and allowing the animal to close the gap between them. He slowly extended his arm, letting his hand dangle at the wrist in an invitation for the dog to sniff it. He was still wary and paced back and forth in front of him. Scarlet squatted down beside Hancock, baiting the dog with her soft, motherly voice.

 

Finally, one tenuous paw at a time, the German Shepherd crept over to meet them. He made a b-line for Scarlet, though. Hancock wasn't sure, but he thought he saw something like distrust in his eyes as he examined the man.

 

“Hey, c'mere.” Hancock followed the dog's path with his outstretched hand. “Look, I'm sorry for scarin' ya.”

 

“He thought you were a mean dog,” said Scarlet in a baby voice, sticking out her lower lip. “But you're not a mean dog, you're a good dog, yes you are! Yes you are!” She scratched him behind the ears with both hands and puckered her lips at his snout.

 

“So you like dogs, I take it?” he said with a laugh.

 

“I had a dog growing up,” she said, looking at John briefly and smiling before turning her focus back on the animal. “Regardless, I saw this little guy at the Red Rocket being cornered by a mole rat. He's probably so weak he couldn't fight back, the poor thing.”

 

“Should've figured you'd have a soft spot for helpless animals,” he said incredulously.

 

Scarlet snickered at him. “Well if anyone can understand that sentiment, it's you.”

 

Hancock chuckled, and beckoned for the dog again. “Come over here, boy. I ain't gonna hurt ya.” The dog visibly hesitated, as if considering the legitimacy of his words. Then, after some gentle encouragement from Scarlet, he finally came over, placing his cold wet nose against the ghoul's hand.

 

He smiled at the creature's acceptance. He stroked the top of his head, then down his back as he neared him, then patted him firmly on the rump as he sat down in front of him. “There's a good boy,” he soothed. Even though Hancock didn't have any experience with dogs, he almost instinctively planted his hand between the ears and began scratching him. As if by magic, he responded by rising to his feet and extending his tail, whipping it back and forth furiously.

 

“Aww, he likes you!” said Scarlet. “Shocking, considering you almost killed him.”

 

The dog's tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, and if Hancock didn't know better, he'd say it was smiling at him. “Almost,” he chuckled. “Well, boy, you should consider yourself lucky. If this lady hadn't stood up for you, we'd be eating dog meat for dinner.”


	6. Med-ex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... Something is afoot...

_Bathrobe. Check. Washcloth. Check. Soap. Check. Clean bathroom..._

 

She heaved a sigh of acceptance. The floor was as clean as she could get it, and Codsworth probably disinfected the bathtub five times, though it was still stained yellow. It didn't matter. The details were minor considering the beautiful indulgence that awaited her. It was so close that it was within her grasp, and she ran out into the living room, squealing in anticipation.

 

“Damn, Sunshine, I don't think I've ever seen you so excited.” Hancock sat on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, sucking down a hit of jet.

 

Scarlet regarded him with a brief kiss on the top of his head, then burst out the front door. “Come on Sturges!” she belted at the mechanic, who was all the way on the other side of the settlement.

 

“I'm taking a sample!” he shouted back, a little irritated but tickled by her enthusiasm. “You don't wanna come out of there with another arm growing out of your stomach, do ya?”

 

“Argh! Just hurry up!” She stormed back inside and slammed the door behind her, but it bounced against the latch and swung back open. Even though she had tried to sound angry, there was nothing that could dampen the thrill that spiked in her chest. She bounced around the room like a ping pong ball, going from one end to the other with a smile glued to her face.

 

“At least let me peek in on you,” Hancock said, following her with his eyes. “Ain't every day I get to see you all wet and slippery.”

 

Dogmeat was stretched out beneath the window, soaking in the midday sun. He had initially watched Scarlet's frenzied comings and goings with curiosity, but soon grew bored of the activity, his only response to her footsteps being the occasional twitch of his ears.

 

“I will take _my_ bath, and then you will take _yours_.” She said, tromping in front of him. “I don't want to touch you and I don't want you to touch me until we are both squeaky clean. You got it?”

 

“No need to shout, Sunshine.” He locked his fingers behind his neck and leaned back into the couch. He closed his eyes and grinned at the seemingly arbitrary rules she had set up around the event. “Just come get me when you're done.”

 

“If Sturges can ever get that fucking purifier running.” She crossed her arms, huffing and puffing as she strode into the kitchen.

 

“You just be patient, now,” he chided. “It's been more than two hundred years since you had a hot bath. It can wait another coupla minutes.”

 

_“Alright, it's ready! Give it a try!”_

 

Scarlet bolted for the bathroom like someone who was about to be sick. Then, bending over the bathtub, she rotated the knob. The red “H” had been worn off long ago. But as the water began to pour out of the faucet, she could see a few wisps of steam rising from the drain.

 

She clapped her hands with glee and pushed the stopper in the bottom. The water that splashed her hands was scalding and she recoiled at the touch. “Fuck... must have turned it up too high.” She had fiddled with the water heater for hours in order to get it operational. Not having too much faith in the centuries-old appliance, she had cranked it up as high as it would go. But the fact that she had almost gotten a third degree burn strangely bolstered her mood even more, and she cheerfully adjusted both knobs until the water had reached a satisfactory temperature.

 

Just as she was slipping out of her clothing and preparing to step into the water, she heard a knock at the door.

 

“What is it John?” she barked.

 

“Sturges just wants to know if it's working,” he said cautiously through the door.

 

“If it wasn't working, I'd probably be out there yelling at him!” she said, her voice bristling with irritation. “Now please, leave!”

 

“Alright, alright. God damn it...” Hancock's voice trailed off in a string of curses as he retreated down the hall.

 

Scarlet simply shook her head and grinned at the steaming pool of liquid in front of her. A hot bath had been one of her greatest joys before the war. It was a momentary retreat, a place to escape her nagging husband and her wailing son and just turn off her brain. A place where she could find some solitude.

 

Hancock, on the other hand, had seen the prospect of a bath as another opportunity to get intimate with her. He was a little disappointed at her flat-out refusal, but allowed her to to have her way without argument. It was obviously an experience that she attached some personal significance to. Far be it from him to question it.

 

She tested the water with a toe before planting her foot at the bottom. Steadying herself on the sides, she plopped in the other, lowering herself slowly until she was completely submerged aside from her head and neck. Then, taking a deep gulp of air, she ducked briefly below the surface, wetting her hair in preparation for the glorious scrubbing she would give it.

 

The shampoo was a disappointment. The two-hundred year old liquid was slimy to the touch and hardly lathered as she applied it. Nevertheless, she worked it up as much as she could, letting it soak into her scalp as she turned her attention to her skin.

 

The water quickly turned a shade of murky brown as the layers of grime were washed away. She didn't mind, though, taking it as a sign that she was finally clean after so many filthy months. Every other attempt at hygiene paled in comparison to this; as she scrubbed and scoured three times over, it almost felt like a rebirth.

 

It was just short of heavenly.

 

_Just short..._

 

After the tedious business of cleaning was over, she leaned back into the water, awaiting the familiar release that it usually offered. But she was unable to unwind completely. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then backwards from ten. She tensed, then relaxed the muscles in her legs. Then her arms. Her back. The warm water was doing nothing to dull the constant aching of her joints. And the more she fixated on it, the worse it became.

 

She shook the cobwebs from between her ears and tried to think of something else. Anything else. Anything was better than this pain, a creeping sensation that began at the soles of her feet, traveling the length of her legs and back and settling just behind her eyes.

 

Yet in her quest for another subject to draw her focus, she landed on the one thing she had been avoiding these past few weeks, the event she had tried desperately to purge from her memory. But there was no running from it now. It all came flooding back to the forefront of her mind, starting at the beginning, on that fateful evening on the State House roof. To the cool sterility of Dr. Amari's exam table. To the last time she had been in a bathtub...

 

She cursed herself, slapping her fist against the water and gritting her teeth against a wave of oncoming tears. _No,_ she said inwardly. _No, I won't think about it. Not now. Not ever._

 

She stood up in the tub enough to lean over the sink. Then, whipping open the medicine cabinet, she grabbed a syringe of med-ex before slamming it shut. The filthy water sloshed over the side as she plopped back down and lay her left arm against the edge of the porcelain. The heat from the bath had plumped up her veins, and she didn't need to look very hard to find one before jamming the needle in.

 

And just like that, it was gone. All of it. Every sinister memory that choked her into paralysis. As suddenly as it had surfaced, it was all washed away with the tide. Drowning in the bathwater, laid to rest in the sickening suspension of dirt that surrounded her.

 

It was all gone now. The pain in her joints. The pain in her heart. Gone.

 

She lay her head back against the tub. Her body was now just a lifeless collection of muscle and sinew suspended in a warm, fuzzy cocoon of nothingness. Her mind went exquisitely blank, and a smile crept across her face.

 

 _This,_ she thought, almost laughing out loud, _This is heaven._

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What is it, the shampoo?”

 

Scarlet turned her head from side to side, smiling softly down at Hancock's face as he lay beneath her.

 

“The soap?”

 

She shook her head again. Hancock grunted and bit his bottom lip, feeling a contraction squeezing at the head of his cock from deep inside of her.

 

“Some kinda lotion?”

 

Another negative.

 

“The god damn laundry detergent?”

 

“Uh-uh.” She couldn't help but giggle a little at his frustration. Not only was this line of questioning getting him nowhere, but she had been riding him for almost an hour now. Every time he got close, whether he said something or not, she backed off, either halting the motion of her hips or pulling them away from his entirely.

 

“Well why the fuck do you smell like strawberries then?” He tossed his head back and hissed. She could tell he was nearing the edge, and she paused as she had done previously, trading her thrusts for a slow circular grind against his cock.

 

“I honestly have no idea.” Scarlet bent down, resting her lips gently over his mouth. He tried to apply some measure of force to the kiss, but even that she withheld from him, retreating in equal measure for every ounce of effort he exerted.

 

“God damn it!” He suppressed the urge to grab her around the neck and pin her to the bed. Instead he closed his fists around the sheets and groaned behind his lips, not even knowing himself why he was allowing this torture to continue.

 

“What's the matter?” she teased. She sat back up and thrust her bosom up and out, toying with one of her nipples while drawing him deeper into her pussy.

 

“How many times did you come?” he bit out.

 

“Just twice.” She closed her eyes and rolled her head back with a sigh. “Not that it matters. I'm having so much fun.”

 

“At least one of us is having a good time,” he growled, clinging tighter to the sheets.

 

“You like this,” she said with a haughty grin. “Admit it.”

 

“I fucking love it,” he said, his words strangled in his throat. “And I fucking hate it.”

 

Scarlet brought him to the edge once more, then stopped her movements and leaned down, planting soft kisses over his chest. She loved the feel and smell of his clean skin, which had turned a shade of bright red now that the dust and dirt had been washed away.

 

She enjoyed the feeling of power she got while she was riding him, pushing and pulling him back and forth over the edge of his own pleasure. The way his eyes rolled into his skull, she could tell he was going mad with desire. And the rush she felt from her control over his responses intertwined with the waves of ecstasy pulsing within.

 

“If you hate it so much,” she began, prying her lips away from his flesh and looking into his eyes, “why don't you do something about it?” She smiled knowingly, a gleam of devilishness lighting up her features.

 

Hancock looked back at her and arched a brow. His lips curled up at the obvious invitation, then he released his grip on the sheets and latched onto her shoulders.

 

He whipped her around to her back, taking care to let her head rest on the pillow as he loomed over her. She gasped as her hands fell back against the mattress. He took a moment to absorb the wide-eyed surprise on her face before honing in on her lips and devouring them with his own.

 

Scarlet surrendered to his will and let her body go limp. She shut her eyes against the force of his lips on her face and sighed into his mouth. Even though he was met with no resistance, he forced the weight of his body onto hers, pinning her against the bed until she was nearly motionless beneath him. A brief shudder coursed its way along her torso, and his own skin rippled with excitement at the sensation of her quivering beneath him.

 

At some length, Hancock finally broke their kiss, staring down at her as her eyes fluttered open. “Now it's my turn,” he chuckled slyly.

 

Keeping her shoulders pressed down, he shifted up until he was straddling her chest. His wet cock noticeably throbbed as it nestled in between her breasts. She looked down, finding herself staring at the tip of his twitching cock as it pointed itself at her chin.

 

He swept his hands to the side and gripped the warm, soft flesh of her breasts. Then he pushed them together, enveloping his member in their silky heat, as he began pumping his hips and sliding between them.

 

Scarlet closed her eyes with a heady moan as he pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She licked her lips and rubbed her thighs together, enraptured by the feeling of his cock sliding in between her breasts.

 

Suddenly, she felt the sharp sting of his palm as it smacked against her nipple. “Look at me,” he commanded, intensifying his grip. “Look at me while I fuck your tits.”

 

She blinked a couple of times before locking onto his stare. Her jaw unconsciously fell open, undone and unraveled by the power of his voice. Her inner thighs slipped over each other as a gush of fluid spurted from her center, and before she knew it, she was climaxing, with nothing but the pressure of her own flesh against her clit and the continuous motion of his fingers at her nipples.

 

Hancock followed her, unable to hold back any longer as her heaving chest rolled and undulated with her lustful cries. He dug his fingers into her breasts as he let go, looking into her eyes as he came.

 

He slowed his thrusts as the first rope of cum shot into the base of her throat. Scarlet craned her head back, allowing each spurt to completely bathe her neck, and smiling as she felt the hot wetness of his seed drenching her skin.

 

Hancock slowed and finally stopped as he released his hold on her breasts. Then he slid back down, aligning his body along hers as he closed in for a kiss.

 

She returned the pressure of his lips as she wound her arms around his back. She held him fast, her chest against his, the insistent and turbulent beating of her heart rattling her ribcage so hard he could feel it in his own. He nuzzled his face into her neck as he swept a palm through her hair, extending his tongue and cleaning his effluence from her porcelain skin.

 

Once he had eliminated the last trace of his seed, he rolled to the side, snatching her around the waist and pulling her against him in a covetous embrace.

 

They stayed that way only for a short while. Then Scarlet wriggled out of his arms, planting a peck on his scarred forehead as she pushed herself off the bed. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she said with a smile.

 

Hancock sighed and flopped back, watching with satisfaction as she sauntered naked toward the door.

 

As soon as she opened it, Dogmeat came bolting into the bedroom. He hopped up on the mattress and quickly laid down next to Hancock, draping a paw over his chest.

 

“God damn it,” he said with a reproachful smile. “You can't even give me a minute to myself?” The ghoul placed his hand between the dog's ears and gave him a scratch.

 

“See? He likes you.” Scarlet plucked a yellow bathrobe from the coat rack and threw it on, gazing fondly at the two of them.

 

“Don't know why. I almost killed him.” Dogmeat pushed his snout into his face and lapped at his cheek. Hancock grunted and turned away to avoid the onslaught, but couldn't stop grinning in spite of himself.

 

“Dogs are very forgiving,” Scarlet said. Then, tying off her robe, she shuffled off to the bathroom and shut the door.

 

Hancock snatched his cigarettes from the night stand and lit one up, smoking in contended silence as he ruffled the fur on Dogmeat's neck. After he had finished with the first cigarette he absently lit another. He laid still, his mind comfortably black, his limbs tingling and pulsing with endorphin-rich blood that twisted his mouth into a permanent smile. He was so peaceful that he would have fallen asleep, were it not for the occasional press of the animal's cold, wet nose against his skin.

 

He extinguished his cigarette and set the ashtray back on the night stand. The bathroom door was still closed, Scarlet still inside. With some effort he pulled his back off the mattress and sat up, stretching his arms behind his head with a yawn. Getting bored with waiting for her to finish, he swung his legs over the side and stood up, making his way toward the kitchen in search of something to drink.

 

He moseyed down the candle-lit hallway, the only sound being that of his own footsteps as he shuffled along. He ambled towards the fridge; Scarlet had gotten the unit running again, albeit just enough to keep a few things chilled. The interior light bathed him as he opened it, and he squinted against the abrupt brightness.

 

Fishing out a beer from the drawer at the bottom, he let the door fall shut and twisted off the cap. He raised the bottle to his lips and took several generous gulps. He exhaled with satisfaction at the taste of the chilled liquid running down his throat. Then he shivered, the temperature of the room finally hitting his bare skin. It was November now; the weather had turned abruptly in the past few days, and though the days were mild and pleasant, the nights were becoming increasingly frigid. He made his way back to the bedroom in search of something warm to throw on.

 

But he stopped just outside of the bathroom door. “Hey, what's going on in there?” he teased, tapping the door with the head of his beer bottle. “Did you fall in?”

 

 _“_ _I'm taking a shit, if you must know!”_ she called from behind the door.

 

Hancock chuckled low in his throat and took another drink. “Are you havin' problems?”

 

 _“_ _Kind of,”_ she grumbled. _“You're not exactly helping.”_

 

“You need me to come in there?” he said with a smirk.

 

_“_ _Look, if you wanna help, go get me that issue of Picket Fences I've been reading.”_

 

“You got it.” Hancock went back out to the kitchen in search of the magazine. He ran his eyes over the dusty counter tops. Not seeing it, he went to the living room, picking up the various pieces of clutter on the coffee table.

 

Scarlet's backpack was sitting on the sofa. He set his beer bottle down on the coffee table. Then, he unzipped the largest pocket and began sifting through it, squinting and straining his eyes in the blackness of the room.

 

Her Silver Shroud comic, a notebook, a pint of whiskey...

 

“Fuck!”

 

Something stabbed him in the finger. He sharply withdrew his hand and put the afflicted digit to his lips, sucking at the trickle of blood that began oozing out of it.

 

He knitted his brows, then resumed digging through the contents of her pack with his left hand, being more careful this time.

 

Hancock let his fingertips dance along the bottom. Feeling something cold and glassy, he closed his hand around it, then pulled it up to his face so that he could make out what it was.

 

_Med-ex?_

 

He didn't think anymore of it, and let it drop back into the pouch where he had found it. But as he began searching through her pack again, he felt another syringe, and took it out in order to verify its contents.

 

More med-ex. It wasn't unusual for her to carry chems with her. But finding two vials of the potent pain-reliever was slightly out of the ordinary. His curiosity now piqued, he resumed searching. This time, though, he wasn't looking for a magazine.

 

Another syringe. That was everything in the main pocket. But what about the side?

 

Cautiously he unzipped it, being careful not to make too much noise as he did. He peered inside as he pried it open, not wanting to stab himself with another needle. Without even feeling for them, he could see them silhouetted against the fabric of their container – five more syringes of med-ex.

 

He didn't want to believe what he was seeing. He gasped, suddenly remembering to breathe as the implications of his find began to take hold of him. _Nobody needs that much med-ex._

 

_“What's going on? Are you okay?”_

 

Scarlet's voice was far-off and still impeded by the bathroom door, but he started as if he had been caught. He shook his shoulders a little, remembering what it was that had made him go searching in the first place. “Uh, yeah. Where did you put it?”

 

_“_ _I think I left it on the dresser in the bedroom.”_

 

Hancock left the backpack where it was. He zipped it up carefully, ensuring it looked the same way as he had found it. Then he snatched up his beer and hurried off back to the bedroom.

 

Dogmeat was still snuggled up in the blankets, and only looked up briefly as the ghoul entered. The oil lamp was ample enough that he could find the issue of Picket Fences without any trouble. “Alright, I got it.”

 

_“_ _Just slide it under the door. Thanks!”_

 

As he pushed the tattered magazine beneath the crack of the bathroom door, he shivered again. But he wasn't cold. Not anymore. He stood up straight, silently fixating on the door that stood between them, and downed the rest of his beer.


	7. Admit It

Scarlet wiped the sweat from her face with her forearm, then stripped off the leather jacket she was wearing and tossed it aside. She was standing in the shade on a brisk November afternoon, but the effort of working on the T-45 was more than enough to overheat her.

 

Being cast under Marcy's scrutinizing glare didn't help matters. Sturges had been working on the suit along side her but left a couple of minutes ago, and Jun, Marcy's husband, went back to their home at her behest. Now it was just the two of them. The woman stood with her back against the workshop wall and smoked a cigarette, quietly studying her with her piercing almond eyes.

 

Scarlet tried to ignore her as much as she could as she continued laboring over the gauntlet that had been damaged in her scuffle with the deathclaw. Sturges had helped her hammer out the dented metal, and she had found some wiring in a broken terminal to repair the severed connections. She was almost finished, and just had a few minute screws left to tighten.

 

As she finished up her work, Scarlet took a step back and assessed the suit's condition. _It'll have to do,_ she said to herself with a frown. There wasn't much more she could accomplish with her limited knowledge of power armor. She had reinforced the outside with some steel plating for extra protection. She had also tweaked the software as much as she dared, attempting to curb some of the automation that had previously caused her to lose control. _Maybe I can adjust the helmet to enhance the suit's targeting ability..._ she thought, tapping a finger against her bottom lip.

 

Her train of thought was interrupted by Marcy, who hacked noisily as she flicked her cigarette into the grass.

 

Scarlet tried not to roll her eyes, and purposely avoided looking at her as she spoke. “Is there something you wanted, Marcy?” she asked, making no secret of her irritation.

 

“You gonna be leaving Sanctuary, then, seeing as you got that armor all fixed up.”

 

“What's it to you?” she snapped back. As much as she tried to be cordial, she couldn't forget the woman's snide remarks and dirty looks whenever Hancock was nearby. The ghoul repeatedly tried to convince Scarlet that it didn't matter. And maybe it didn't. At least, not to him.

 

“Hey, listen...” Marcy pushed herself away from the wall, cautiously taking a few steps towards Scarlet, who now glared at her with disdain. “Look, I'm... I'm sorry if I was rude before.”

 

“Hmph.” Scarlet whipped her head back to the suit and stomped toward it. She clenched her teeth together, then began fiddling with something on the side of the helmet.

 

“I know you're new out here. Being pre-war and all...” she began, crossing her arms. “But things are different now. You gotta be careful.” Marcy paced over to the workbench and picked up a screwdriver, examining it briefly before putting it back down. “You can't just trust everyone you meet.”

 

Scarlet grunted as she pried open the T-45's helmet with her fingertips. “I know. And I can sympathize,” she said curtly. “But you're the only one who seems to have a problem with him.”

 

“Ghouls killed my son.”

 

Marcy's voice was sharp, and the admission almost stung Scarlet's ear. She paused from her task and looked over at the woman, leveling with her eyes. “Ghouls killed your son?”

 

“Well, ferals,” she said quickly, turning away.

 

“Hancock's not feral,” Scarlet said firmly.

 

“No, but he's close enough,” she growled.

 

“I can assure you, Marcy,” she said, leering at the woman as she stepped toward her, “He's got nothing in common with 'ferals.' He's a good man.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she relented. She sighed, then resumed her place against the workshop wall. “I can see that now. I'm sorry I didn't see it before.”

 

Scarlet paused and looked her over, dubiously taking in her half-hearted apology. She didn't know Marcy very well from the few weeks she had spent in Sanctuary. In fact, she avoided the woman every chance she got. Even without her obvious distrust for Hancock, she wasn't exactly the most pleasant person to be around. Even her own husband seemed to be uncomfortable in her presence. Yet her icy personality made her admission more sincere, somehow. She willingly was admitting fault in her judgment of Hancock, and that in itself was akin to begging for forgiveness.

 

But Scarlet was slow to let things go as far as John was concerned. She loved him voraciously, and was unabashedly defensive of his character. Despite his penchant for confrontation, he shied away from the personal attacks he received from simply being a ghoul. It was obvious that he had grown immune to the criticism over the years. Scarlet, on the other hand, felt each slight, each insult as if it were against herself. And in a way it was; they were engaged, after all. Any negativity directed at him almost invariably applied to her as well.

 

Scarlet narrowed her eyes at Marcy. She nodded at her tersely, acknowledging her apology if not accepting it.

 

The woman looked at her feet, her scraggly black hair veiling the sides of her face. “I can see why you like him.”

 

Scarlet sighed, letting her arms fall to her sides as she shook her head. “Look, I'm sorry about what happened to your son,” she offered sincerely. “I can't say I blame you. I don't know...” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked off into the distance, a chilly breeze making her shudder where she stood. “Maybe I'd feel the same way, if I were in your shoes.”

 

Marcy nodded and leaned back, lighting another cigarette. “It ain't easy to look at the kinds of things that killed your kid and pretend like everything's fine.” She sucked in a hit of smoke, pausing to push it back out of her lungs before she went on. “But I understand now. I think. I mean, I know he ain't one of them.”

 

Scarlet snuck a peek out of the corner of her eye, but continued to avoid looking at her directly. “I love that man.” She took the cigarette that she had tucked behind her ear and brought it to her lips. “And honestly,” she said, holding the filtered end between her teeth as she lit it, “I don't appreciate what a bitch you've been.”

 

A grin splashed over Marcy's face and she laughed deeply. “Yeah, I know I can be a real pain in the ass. But for what it's worth, I want you to know I was wrong. I realize that now.” She paused and her smile turned into a slight grimace, as if the words she was saying caused her some pain. “... And I appreciate everything you guys have done for us. I mean it.”

 

Scarlet took a deep drag of her cigarette, reluctant to acknowledge what she was saying. In a way, she felt that by forgiving Marcy, she was condoning the woman's past behavior. But she was overcome by her pre-war conditioning to be polite. _And besides,_ she thought, _I'm probably not gonna see her again after I leave._

 

A few more tense moments passed between them before Scarlet finally spoke. “It's alright, Marcy,” she said. “I understand. I don't hold it against you.”

 

“Thanks,” she said simply. She began to walk away, then stopped, turning back toward the vault-dweller before she left. “And uh, you'll tell him, won't you? That I'm sorry about the way I acted.”

 

Scarlet fumed inwardly, but relented to the woman's request, if only to get her to leave. “Yeah, sure. I'll tell him.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The house was quiet when Scarlet returned home that evening. She gave the place a quick once-over, looking for John. _Probably still with Preston..._ The two of them had been occupied that day with bolstering Sanctuary's defenses, which included placing a couple of turrets around the town's borders.

 

Looking out the kitchen window, she saw Dogmeat leisurely patrolling the backyard. The animal gave her a bark of acknowledgment as he caught her looking at him, then continued on his way. For the moment, at least, she was alone.

 

Scarlet had left her backpack on the sofa like she usually did. Feeling the familiar cramping in her gut, she began fishing through it in search of a dose of med-ex.

 

She checked the front pocket. Then the sides. Then the little drawstring pouch on the front. But it was all gone. At least, it wasn't where she left it.

 

Her eyebrows furrowed together as she went over in her mind what she might have done with it. There had been at least three doses in there last night. Though admittedly, she had had a few drinks along with her med-ex before going to bed; it was entirely possible that she had moved them and not remembered it.

 

She left the open backpack on the couch and went back to the bathroom. Instinctively she shut the door behind her, even though no one was home. Planting her rear firmly on the toilet, she hunched over, feeling for the edges of a section of tile at her feet that had come loose. Carefully, she grabbed hold of the loose flooring by the inside edges of her fingernails. Then she slid it aside, revealing a small compartment in the bathroom floor – just large enough for an old pre-war first aid box.

 

Her insides ached for relief. The pain seemed to shoot along every nerve ending in her body, and she was dizzy and nauseous on top of it. She was even beginning to feel a slight tremor in her limbs as she flipped open the lid.

 

Scarlet blinked several times as she processed what she saw. She even rubbed her eyes, overcome with disbelief at what was in the box.

 

 _Nothing_.

 

A jolt of panic surged in her throat, and she angrily closed the lid and replaced the tile haphazardly over the box.

 

_What in the hell..._

 

The bathroom door whipped open furiously as she barreled out and into the bedroom. Frantically, she began her search, rummaging through the night stand, pulling out the dresser drawers and scattering their contents over the floor, overturning the pillows and blankets, all the while not bothering to put things back the way she had found them. She was in desperate need of a dose, just to quell the agony that was seizing hold of her muscles.

 

_Where would I have put it?_

 

She went back to the bathroom and tore into the medicine cabinet. Finding nothing but stimpacks, she slammed the door shut, nearly causing it to come unhinged from the force.

 

At this point, Scarlet knew that something was amiss. _Who the hell took it?_ She fumed inwardly. She ground her teeth together and swept her hands through her hair, her eyes darting from side to side in a vain attempt to discover even one syringe. But even if she found one, she knew there were more – at least a dozen she had stowed away. But there wasn't even a used needle laying around, not a drop of the stuff left in the house.

 

_Maybe raiders took it._

 

But if it were thieves, surely they would have left some hint of their entry. Surely they would have taken more than just a handful of chems if they had bothered to break in. It didn't make any sense.

 

Scarlet turned on her heel and stormed out of the bathroom, ready to rip the living room to shreds if need be.

 

“What're you up to, Sunshine?”

 

As she emerged from the hallway, she was met by Hancock's ominous form looming in front of her. The ghoul leaned casually against the back of the sofa behind him and crossed his arms, but the look in his eye was sharp and expectant. His voice was sickeningly sweet, and the way he said 'Sunshine' carried a penetrating air that made the bile churn in her stomach.

 

Scarlet stopped dead in her tracks. _How long has he been here?_ She wondered. No doubt long enough to listen in on her as she decimated the bedroom. Even so, she did her best to relax the tension in her shoulders and let her hands fall against the outside of her thighs, doing her best to look casual as she answered him.

 

“I just misplaced something.” Somehow she even managed to smile at him as she spoke, the only hint of her anxiety being the subtle shift of her weight from one foot to the other.

 

“Oh?” Hancock pushed himself from the back of the couch and inched a little closer to her. “Whatchya lookin' for? Maybe I can help you find it.”

 

 _Is he... does he know?_ Scarlet wasn't certain about his tone. It sounded like he was leading her on, almost mocking her. Maybe it was just her rabid hunger for med-ex, but the way he spoke was awfully suspicious. Downright sinister, in fact.

 

“No, it's okay,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “It's not important.”

 

“Is that so?” He stepped forward again, slowly closing the gap between the two of them. “It must've been important, seeing as you were ready to tear down the house to find it.” Hancock came to a halt, his face mere inches from hers. He towered over her with his stately frame, and she looked up into his stern, black eyes with a gulp.

 

His voice was practically dripping with provocation now, and Scarlet apprehensively surmised what had happened. She had been found out.

 

“I was angry about something else. Something Marcy said,” she stated quickly. The denial of the situation was swift to take hold of her. She wasn't ready to admit to herself what she had been searching for, let alone John. Despite his evident knowledge of what was going on, she wasn't going to confess anything.

 

“So you had a fight with Marcy, huh?” Hancock rocked back on his heels with a condescending twitch of his lips. “That what got you all riled up?”

 

“Mhmm.” Scarlet nodded her head, summoning up as much feigned confidence as she could.

 

“Is that why you're shakin' so bad?”

 

She clasped her hands together in front of her stomach and locked her knees. _Is it that obvious?_

 

“Is that why you're sweatin'?”

 

“I was working on the T-45,” she said calmly. It was in fact why she had broken out in a sweat. Initially, anyway.

 

“You look kinda sick.”

 

“I just need a drink.”

 

Scarlet turned toward the kitchen, desperate to escape Hancock's relentless probing. But he reached out and caught her by the elbow before she could leave. She tugged a little against his hold, but he jerked her back, forcing her to face him.

 

She tried not to let her discomposure show in her eyes as she met his hardening stare. Keeping a tight grip on her arm, he bored into her, his expression awash with an icy distrust.

 

“No,” he said lowly. His voice dropped deep into his chest as he continued. With each inhalation, his breath noticeably shook, and his black eyes became back-lit by his ire. “No, I don't think you need a drink.”

 

The ghoul paused, letting his insinuation hang over Scarlet's head like an impending storm. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and a fresh bout of tremors poured along her spine and into her limbs. The way he had her captive in his gaze made her unable to blink, and she froze up apart from the quivering in her bones.

 

“I think what you need,” he said, releasing her arm and reaching into his pocket, “Is this.”

 

There was no disguising the eagerness in her eyes. Scarlet's mouth practically watered at the sight of the med-ex in his hand, and she would have exploded into a shower of frenzied bits if she weren't contained by her own skin.

 

“Well yeah, I guess I could use some.”

 

It took every ounce of willpower within her to stay calm and collected. Seeing what she needed right there in front of her was almost more than she could stand. At this point, it didn't really matter to her what he thought. The reality of her dependence didn't matter, either. All that mattered was that little vial of medicine, the one thing within miles that could give her the relief she so desperately needed.

 

With a sweet, almost seductive smile, Scarlet extended her arm and flattened her palm, ready to receive it.

 

“Oh, so this _is_ what you need?”

 

Hancock's obvious sarcasm made her want to slap him across the face. But she bit the inside of her lip instead, and laid her hand casually against her hip. “Can I have it please?” she asked, doing her utmost to veil any hint of forcefulness.

 

“Yeah...” The ghoul held the syringe up in front of his face and stared at the pale yellow liquid. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

 

“I would, to be honest.” Scarlet pursed her lips and eyed him reproachfully, doing her best to act as she would have in any other set of circumstances. It wasn't beyond her to scold him when he tried to tease her. In fact, it would have probably been suspicious if she hadn't attempted to admonish him. “My arm is actually pretty sore from trying to get that damn suit fixed.”

 

“Oh, I believe that you're in pain...” Hancock closed the vial in his palm, shielding it from Scarlet's piercing eyes. “I just don't think it's your arm that hurts.”

 

She was nearing the end of her limited patience. It seemed like there was no surreptitious way to get what she wanted. His ongoing reproving was irksome, and it grated coarsely against her last nerve. Folding her arms and frowning in consternation, she decided at this point to try and get him to speak plainly.

 

“What are you implying?” she demanded.

 

“It ain't so much an implication as it is an observation.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Scarlet couldn't help following the vial of med-ex with her eyes as he stowed it away. “You've developed quite the chem habit, haven't you, Sunshine?”

 

The accusation immediately sparked a fire that pulsed through her veins. A wave of stark, obstinate denial crashed over her. The blue in her eyes flickered an angry gold, and she glowered up at him. “I've been in a lot of pain ever since that _procedure.”_ She put extra emphasis on the word, attempting to draw in some sympathy. Maybe even make him feel a little guilty.

 

“There's only so long you can use that as an excuse,” he said flatly, undisturbed by her effort to cajole him. “At this point, any pain you got left is on account of the fact that you're hooked.”

 

“I'm not hooked on anyth-”

 

“You're hooked alright,” he said, cutting her off. “I know an addict when I see one.”

 

Scarlet clenched her hands into fists. Her jaw tightened and her teeth clamped together. As much as she didn't accept the case that was being brought against her, she wasn't in the mood to argue. She had been itching for a dose as soon as she walked in the door. Now, her body was virtually crying out for it. Her guts felt like they were twisting themselves into knots, and the dull ache that had overtaken her body was slowly building into full-blown agony.

 

“Look, just give it to me,” she said with a sneer. “We can argue about this later.”

 

“Nu-uh.” He removed the syringe back out of his pocket and held it up, pinching the little glass tube between his fingers. “I think I'm gonna hold onto this for now.”

 

His refusal struck her like electricity. Scarlet froze up again, Her anger was now intense enough to overwhelm her trembling body, and she stood rigidly upright as she scowled at him. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean I ain't gonna give it to you,” he asserted.

 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” She said, her voice beginning to quiver with rage. “Look, I need it, okay? Just hand it over.”

 

“I suppose I could be persuaded to give it to ya,” he began, avoiding her simmering eyes and staring absently at the syringe. “If...” Hancock paused, sneaking a peak at Scarlet's greedy look from the corner of his eye. “If you admit you've got a problem.”

 

The blood in her veins reached a full on boil. A wave of fire rushed to her cheeks, and her nostrils flared as she sucked in an impatient breath. “I'm not admitting shit,” she spat, throwing her fists to her sides. “Just give me the damn med-ex.”

 

“Just as soon as you accept the fact that you're addicted.”

 

“But...” she stammered, reaching for whatever she could without giving into his demand. “People use med-ex all the time.”

 

“Nobody uses that much unless they're hooked, and you know it.”

 

“But _you_ use-”

 

“I got a handle on my shit,” he growled. “ _You're_ the one who's lost control.”

 

Her breaths became deeper and more urgent. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. It was all she could do to keep from swinging one of her tightly balled fists into his smug face. She couldn't remember the last time she wanted to hurt someone so badly. Not even Kellogg. Not even Winlock. Any rationality that she had left was clouded with madness, and all she wanted to do in that moment was wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.

 

Somehow she managed to hold back, and settled for swiping at the vial. “Fucking give it to me!”

 

Hancock pressed his hand against her shoulder, keeping her at arms length as he held it even higher. “You want it?”

 

“Yes!” Scarlet tried to wrest herself from his hold and reached for it again.

 

“How bad do you want it?”

 

“Quit fucking around and give it to me!” she shrieked, intensifying her struggle.

 

“All you gotta do is admit-”

 

“I told you, I'm not admitting shit!”

 

“You want it that bad?!” he roared. Hancock pushed her, hard enough to make her nearly lose her balance as she staggered backwards. Then he leaned into her, a menacing snarl twisting his disfigured face as he shook the syringe in his fist. “Fucking admit it! Tell me you're an addict!”

 

Scarlet's eyes widened in horror, taken aback by both his physical and verbal outburst. As angry as she was, she had never seen him so furious, not towards anyone. And to have it directed at her...

 

Her bottom lids pooled with stinging tears, and her lower lip trembled as she clasped her hands protectively to her chest. “John, please...”

 

“Say it!”

 

Any sense or wit she had left had evaporated. Her control had been slipping away since the craving first hit her, and it faded along with her growing desire, her mounting anguish, and her escalating fury. She was sick. Sick with need. Sick with hatred. And he was holding her cure for ransom, taunting her, pushing her to the brink. She stomped back towards him, arms outstretched, as if showing her surrender even as she screamed at him. “All right fine, I admit it! I'm a fucking addict! Are you happy now?!”

 

He didn't stop her this time as she reached up and finally claimed the syringe from his relaxing grip. Her chest heaved, and her eyes were wild and raw with primal hunger as she held it to her face, examining it intensely, ensuring it truly was what she needed. Then, without another word, she ran back to the bathroom, kicking aside the loose tile on the floor and pulling out an elastic band.

 

Hancock watched from a distance as she tied it around her bicep. Then she sat down on the toilet, not bothering to regard his presence as she found a vein, inserted the needle, and pushed.

 

He leaned in the doorway, watching as the drug seeped into her body and overtook her completely. She sighed heavily and her body visibly relaxed. Her twitching legs became still, her clenched fists unfurled, and her head fell back, bobbing listlessly at the end of her neck. All at once, the pains of her withdrawal were obliterated, her anger had been erased, and all she could feel was sweet, blissful relief.

 

A few minutes passed in silence. Hancock waited patiently, his shoulder propped against the door frame. The initial surge from the med-ex disappeared into the pleasant buzz she was used to, and she managed to sit up and look at him, though with a glassy and distant expression.

 

“Where's the rest of it?” she asked, practically slurring as she spoke.

 

“Gone,” he answered. The word was accentuated with finality, and she knew with a grave certitude that he had indeed disposed of everything else. He had saved that last dose for blackmailing her. But that was that. The last of her med-ex was now coursing through her veins, and there wasn't a shred of hope that he had salvaged anything else.

 

“How did you find it?” Her breaths were slow and shallow, and she almost labored to speak.

 

“I know junkies,” he said simply, standing up straight and folding his arms. “I know all their tricks. Wasn't that hard.”

 

She attempted to nod her head, but ended up bobbing it awkwardly a couple of times.

 

“So that's it, huh?” Scarlet slumped where she sat, letting her arms dangle limply at her sides. Her eyes struggled to stay open, and her head swayed back and forth. “There's nothing left?”

 

“Nothin'.” The ghoul took a few short steps into the bathroom, then knelt down next to her. “Looks like you're gonna have to do this cold turkey.”


	8. Detox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Med-ex is one hell of a drug, y'all.

Scarlet heaved into the wastebasket between her legs. The little bit of water she had been able to drink came up, along with the remnants of her early morning nightcap. The force of her retching squeezed the whole of her insides, and she groaned as she expelled even more fluid from the other end into the centuries-old toilet.

 

Hancock sat on the floor, his back against the tub, patiently watching her as she began her withdrawal from the med-ex. It had started almost the first thing that morning. Scarlet admitted to usually taking a dose when she first woke up, and the absence of a fix had set things in motion rather quickly.

 

“How many times a day were you doin' it?” The ghoul rested his elbows on his knees and clutched his hat in his hand.

 

She spit noisily into the trash can before sitting back up. “Four,” she panted, not bothering to look in his direction.

 

“Damn...” Hancock tugged his hat back over his head, then cleared his throat. “That's pretty intense, Sunshine.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” she grunted. Even though she was wearing several layers of clothing, her teeth chattered intermittently, and she struggled to stay perched on the toilet seat. Being sick to her stomach and undulating between cold and hot, she was miserable to say the least. But Hancock had told her it was only the beginning. She still had three days of symptoms to ride through, and it was going to get a lot worse before it got any better. “Why couldn't you just wean me off?” she grumbled, any anger she felt undercut by her misery.

 

“You need to trust me on this one.” He sat forward and gave her an earnest stare. “If you wanna kick it, it's best to do it all at once. I've seen a lot of people try to taper off the stuff, but med-ex is so hard to shake, an extra hit like that just makes it easier to slip back into using it full-time.”

 

Scarlet summoned what little energy she had to look into his eyes, and gave him a terse but understanding nod. _If anyone knows about chem addiction, it would have to be John..._

 

“Besides...” He paused, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly before going on. “I got so pissed when I saw all that shit, I kinda went crazy. Dumped it all in the river.”

 

“Figures.” She let out an exasperated sigh and hung her head back over the trash can. What was done was done, she relented, even though she wanted to cry at the thought of so much med-ex going to waste like that.

 

“Where'd you get all those chems all the way out here, anyway?” he asked, folding his hands. “Don't tell me Trashcan Carla's a dealer.”

 

She retched again amid another wave of nausea, her guts heaving so hard she thought she might vomit up her intestines. Hancock wanted to rub his hand along her back, or wipe the cold sweat from her forehead. But she had already made it clear that she didn't want him touching her. It hurt, she insisted, though he was doubtful that his soothing touch was actually causing her pain. More than likely, she was embarrassed by the violent expulsion of fluids from both ends of her body. Or it could simply have been that she wanted to indulge in her suffering, as she had when she terminated her pregnancy. Sometimes she seemed hell-bent on punishing herself, whether or not she actually deserved it.

 

She finished retching and regained her composure, wiping her lips on the sleeve of her sweater before speaking. “Carla was just transporting them,” she explained, her jaw shaking uncontrollably as another chill overcame her. “I set up the deal with this guy named Wolfgang.”

 

“Who the fuck is 'Wolfgang?'” he demanded sternly. “I ain't seen any chem dealers wandering around Sanctuary.” He paused, a troubling thought passing through his mind. “Unless you set it up back in Goodneighbor before we left...”

 

Scarlet shook her head languidly. “You remember that diner, where I went to meet up with those traders I found?”

 

Hancock pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it and offered it to her, and she declined with a brisk wave of her hand. “I thought you said there was only that woman and her son.” He sucked in a puff of smoke, then tilted his head back and blew it upwards as he exhaled.

 

“I lied,” she mumbled, looking down into the trash can full of her foamy sick. “When I first met them, coming out of the vault, there were four people there. Trudy, who runs the diner, her son, Patrick, Wolfgang, and his bodyguard.”

 

“Ah yeah, didn't you say the kid had a chem problem?”

 

“Mhmm. That's why I walked into them almost killing each other. Patrick owed Wolfgang some money. Wolfgang roped me in, tried to get me to convince Trudy to pay up. Trudy just wanted him to go away, leave her and her son alone. Stop dealing him chems. I was kind of a mediator, I guess. Ended up helping them strike a bargain.”

 

“Sounds like he didn't leave like she wanted, though.”

 

“I figured he'd be long gone when I went back there a couple weeks ago. But he was still there, lurking around the diner with that bodyguard of his. They must have reached some kind of a truce. Patrick didn't look strung out anymore, at least.”

 

Hancock grunted in affirmation, drawing in another thick cloud of smoke. “So he set his sights on you, then?” The ghoul hissed the smoke out almost angrily towards the ceiling. The thought of someone pushing drugs on Scarlet made a fresh wave of anger bubble beneath his skin.

 

She watched the trail of smoke as it left his lungs and clung to the tiles on the ceiling. The morning light cut into the billowing clouds, creating a gentle ripple that she found somewhat soothing. “He didn't have to try very hard,” she said guiltily. “We were running low, and I needed more. He was just an... unfortunate convenience.”

 

He stroked his chin with the edge of his thumb, considering her story. “Well at least I know where it was coming from. Setting up a deal, using Carla as a mule. It's actually a pretty smart way to do business.”

 

“I guess you could call it that,” she sighed.

 

“Still though,” he pointed at her with the glowing ember of his cigarette, “doesn't explain how you managed to pay for all those chems. Four vials of med-ex a day ain't cheap. Where were you getting all those caps?”

 

She shamefully averted her eyes. “I... had some stuff I traded. Some jewelry.”

 

His brows lowered, casting a hard shadow over his eyes. “Jewelry?”

 

“Yeah, I...” She had left her glasses on the sink, and there were no obstructions as she buried her reddening face into her hands. “When we were in the vault. Before we left the cryo chambers, I...” She let gravity pull her hands along her checks before letting them fall against her thighs. “I took Nate's wedding ring.”

 

Hancock nodded, seeming interested, if not phased by her admission. “That wouldn't even get you a week's worth of chems.”

 

She swallowed hard, reluctant to share any other details of her licentious exchange. “There were a few other pieces I found in the house.”

 

“Such as?” He tapped the edge of his cigarette and stared at her, calm but expectant.

 

“A pair of diamond earrings. Nate gave them to me for our anniversary.”

 

“Jesus Christ...” Hancock clucked his tongue before running a tired palm over his face. “Just one of those could've kept these settlers stocked for months.”

 

“I know,” she lamented with a groan. “Don't you think I already feel guilty enough?”

 

Before he could answer her she hunched forward, another wave of sickness bursting from her center. She clutched the edges of the wastebasket as she vomited. There was nothing left to purge, though, and all that came from her mouth was a thin stream of saliva.

 

He didn't answer, and simply snubbed his cigarette in the bathtub while he waited for her to finish. There wasn't any point in dwelling over what she had already done. And she was likely beating herself up over it even as she puked up her insides.

 

“Honestly, now that it's all out in the open, I'm kind of shocked you didn't notice it earlier. I was pretty much on med-ex 24/7.”

 

Now it was his turn to feel guilty. He tucked his chin to his chest, wondering himself how he had let her get so far gone. Had he really failed to notice the warning signs? He was intimately familiar with the ins and outs of chem use, both from observation and personal experience. Nearly every chem or combination of chems had been in his bloodstream at one point or another. He could spot a junkie from a mile off, sniff out hidden stashes of chems like a bloodhound, cook up just about any kind of high with nothing but basic lab equipment. And yet he had failed to notice when Scarlet, whom he spent nearly every waking and sleeping moment with, who he knew more deeply and thoroughly than he even knew himself, had succumbed to a disease that had destroyed countless friends and lovers over his half century on earth.

 

“Your arm never looked too banged up,” he offered. It may not be the only warning sign of a med-ex addict, but the puncture wounds and bruises that usually dotted the arms of hard users were conspicuously absent from her milky-white flesh.

 

“I knew you'd notice if I always used my arm,” she said, sniffling up the mucous that trickled down her nostrils. “I actually used my feet most of the time. Plenty of good veins there. Plus,” she added, chuckling in spite of herself, “You never really seemed like you were that into foot stuff. Figured you'd never even look there.”

 

“I gotta hand it to ya. That's pretty clever.” It was an old trick to be sure, but it wasn't one he would have picked up on. She had to wear shoes most of the time for practical reasons, and wore socks or slippers around the house. In bed, he was usually too absorbed in her other features to pay her feet any mind.

 

He circled his fingertips around his temples and then lit another cigarette, trying to rationalize or otherwise make sense of how he had failed her so completely. Maybe she had been using so frequently and so consistently that he hadn't even noticed the change in her. And while she didn't have a history of being manipulative, she was smart enough to do it if she had to. Maybe she had just bluffed her way through each day, concealing her drug-induced hazes with a bat of her eyelashes, deflecting his suspicions with a seductive smile...

 

_No, John. You know damn well that's not it._

 

The reality was, she had shown him all the warning signs. Apart from the lack of track marks on her arm, there wasn't a symptom in the book she didn't exhibit: lethargy, constipation, irritability, drowsiness – she always slept a lot, but it was even more excessive than usual. The alert sparkle of curiosity that normally resided in her baby blue eyes had been replaced by a listless complacency. And on top of all that, she had been shooting up right in front of him almost every other night. She always had an excuse though, and he always looked the other way.

 

 _I always looked the other way_.

 

All this time, it had been staring him in the face. And he had chosen to ignore it. He was in just as much denial as she was.

 

Scarlet interrupted his train of thought with a low, despondent moan, then began peeling off her sweater. “I'm hot now,” she said, casting the garment on the floor next to the toilet.

 

“Is there anything I can get you?”

 

“If you can find a nice cold bottle in the fridge I'd fucking love it.”

 

“You got it, Sunshine.” He stood up and adjusted the flag around his hips, resisting the urge to kiss her on the forehead as he headed toward the kitchen. As he searched the fridge, testing the temperature of each bottle, he tried not to get too caught up in berating himself for the part he had played in this whole mess. It didn't matter. It had happened, and there was no easy fix to what had transpired. All he could do was stay there with her and see her through the inevitable. Without a doubt, he knew the worst was yet to come.

 

* * *

 

 

She was sick to her stomach for hours until it finally let up. Even then, she could only stand tiny sips of water. The chills still came off and on, but abated enough for her to get a few hours of sleep before a fresh bout of symptoms took over, cutting her rest, and Hancock's, painfully short. She hadn't eaten at all the day before, and thankfully she didn't need to keep herself glued to the toilet anymore.

 

But the nausea was still just as intense as it had been, somehow even more so despite the absence of vomiting. She couldn't stand up without toppling over from dizziness. That is, if she could bring herself to stand at all.

 

Codsworth had offered his assistance more than once. It was annoying in fact, to the point that Hancock was considering blowing the damn robot into shrapnel. He knew the automaton was just trying to be helpful, offering clean towels and cans of purified water to her several times during the night. Eventually, in a fit of rage, Scarlet threatened to deactivate him if he didn't leave her alone. Finally getting the message, the robot let her be, leaving Hancock and Dogmeat to continue their vigil in relative peace.

 

The night edged tortuously into a bleak, grizzly day, overcast and dampened by a constant, bitter rain. And as Scarlet entered her second day of med-ex withdrawal, the roiling in her gut evolved into a torment that surmounted anything she had previously thought possible.

 

If she closed her eyes, she swore up and down that Hancock was sawing into her abdomen with his combat knife, back and forth, grating the serrated edge deep into her flesh. In the brief moments that she was able to pry her eyes open she could see him sitting up in bed next to her, watching over her, comforting her as best he could.

 

For hours on end she was permanently twisted into the fetal position, rolling back and forth in a vain attempt to escape her agony. Cold sweat flowed ceaselessly from her pores, soaking the bed sheet beneath her. She couldn't speak amidst her cries of anguish. And when she did manage to force out words, they were curses. She cursed herself for being stupid enough to get addicted in the first place. She cursed Hancock for not intervening sooner. She cursed Kellogg, and Winlock, and anyone else she could think of out of sheer frustration for the terrible predicament in which she found herself.

 

“Fuck... fuck...” Scarlet was curled up, groaning into her pillow as she clutched it to her abdomen. She was literally writhing now, her muscles twisting and contracting visibly beneath her skin. Her face was contorted in a permanent grimace, corrupting it, disfiguring it to the point that Hancock barely recognized it anymore.

 

He watched helplessly as she was racked relentlessly by searing, indescribable pain. It was almost more than he could stand to see her this way. He was deeply regretting disposing of every last vial of med-ex, now. It may have been dangerous to allow her the temporary relief that even a fraction of a dose would bring. But if he could be there to administer it, control the dosage...

 

 _No._ He decisively squelched the thought. All it would do is serve to prolong her recovery, delay her departure from Sanctuary in pursuit of her son. And there was always a chance that even a little bit of med-ex might land her right back in square one, starting the process of withdrawing all over again. He had seen it happen all to often.

 

“Please, John!” Scarlet struggled to lock onto his eyes as she reached for his hand, groping aimlessly until she found it. She gripped his palm with an almost superhuman force. She strained to look at him, her eyes vacant yet pleading, flecks of spit showering her cracked lips as she sucked her breaths through gritted teeth. “Please!” She implored him, mustering everything she had left within her to get the words out. “Please, just give me a little...”

 

Hancock shook his head solemnly. “There is no more, Sunshine.”

 

Scarlet wailed in utter despair and released his hand, rolling away from him. “Just... Just go find Mama Murphy! She's got some. You know she's got some...”

 

“Maybe she has,” Hancock said matter-of-factly. “But even if she did, it ain't worth it. You gotta stick this out, Sunshine.”

 

“Fuck you!” She roared, turning back to him, a raw expression of hatred mingling with her grimace. “You couldn't even bother to get me some addictol, could you? You just had to get rid of everything! You didn't even think, did you!”

 

Dogmeat cowered in the corner. He whimpered in confusion, despondent and troubled by Scarlet's angry shouts.

 

Her harsh words bounced off of Hancock somewhat easily. The outburst was little more than another side-effect of her withdrawal. She was right about one thing, though; he hadn't thought ahead. And if he had, addictol would have been the first item on his list. It wasn't a cure-all by any means. Even with it, she would still have to suffer, but the effects of her withdrawal would be somewhat lessened.

 

“You're right,” he conceded, hanging his head. “I didn't think. I just acted. I saw all that shit, all those chems, and all I could think about was what it was doin' to you. That shit'll kill you, Sunshine.”

 

“Please, John...” her bitterness swung back around to sweetness, trying again to use his feelings for her as leverage to sate her hunger. She rolled over and took his hand again, being careful this time not to grip him too hard. “Please, can you find me some addictol?”

 

Hancock knew that this was going to happen. He had tried to prepare himself mentally for the hardship that she would have to endure. After all, he'd gone through it more than once himself. But it was a different animal, seeing someone you loved being tortured by the ravages of med-ex withdrawal, rather than going through it yourself. As he looked at her sweating, convulsing body rolling around on the mattress, he wished with every fiber of will in his body that he could take this for her. He wished he could somehow absorb her pain, allow her a few moments of peace at least. Seeing Scarlet in such agony surpassed anything else he had experienced before. It was almost too much to bear.

 

There was no addictol, of that much he was positive. The settlers had been pooling the resources they recovered from Sancutary's ruins, and from what he could ascertain, everyone was pretty straightforward about what they had found. Mama Murphy may be inclined to keep the odd chem or two. Aside from that, however, there was a good chance that he would have known about any addictol scavanged in the settlement.

 

He looked down into her strained, frightened eyes as she held onto his hand. A bead of sweat trickled from her forehead along her temple. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, and she clenched them together between the chills that shook her slender frame. He couldn't lie to her, even if it meant destroying what shred of hope she was clinging to that her suffering might somehow be eased....

 

But he couldn't tell her the truth, either.

 

He looked away from that entreating, begging stare of hers to collect himself. He tried to shut himself off to her hand tightening around his palm, to the clack of her teeth as they clattered against each other rapidly, to the groan of pure agony that originated deep in her gut and bubbled its way through her taught vocal chords. He couldn't face it anymore. It was destroying him as much as it was destroying her.

 

“I'll go look for some,” he finally said, still avoiding her eyes. He knew the search for addictol would ultimately be fruitless. But it would give her something to look forward to, if even for a little while. It would give him something to do, rather than sit here and watch her endless suffering.

 

“Oh god, thank you!” Scarlet steadied her shaking body as much as she could before drawing his hand to her mouth. Then she placed a tepid, dry kiss on the back of his hand before closing her eyes and rolling over, and resumed clutching the pillow against her stomach.

 

“I'll be back,” he said. He couldn't tell whether or not she heard him. But he didn't wait for a response. Promptly he rose from her side, donned his long red overcoat and tricorn hat, and left that den of misery as fast as he possibly could.

 

He burst into the chilly drizzle of early afternoon and slammed the front door behind him. Disregarding the rain, he put a cigarette to his lips and sucked at it sharply as he lit it. The rain didn't even bother him, really. It was actually kind of nice. Cool, gentle, peaceful, a welcome change of pace from the hellish nightmare that dwelt in that house.

 

Preston had notice Hancock coming out. He was taking shelter in the workshop at the center of town, just across from the house where the ghoul and the vault-dweller had taken up residence. He hadn't seen either of them in almost two days, but he had heard enough to know what was going on. Hours of violent retching, followed by painful moans, then a few hours of silence before the screams started. The other settlers may have been concerned, but he knew all too well that the violent noises seething from that house weren't cause for alarm. If anything, they evoked a piteous sorrow that tightened around his chest and almost made him choke on his own spit. He knew exactly what was happening.

 

“How's she doing?” The minuteman asked as he sauntered carefully towards Hancock, his laser musket held across his chest.

 

The ghoul didn't seemed phased by the man's presence, or his apparent knowledge of the situation. Instead he ashed his cigarette and casually looked away. “Not good,” was his terse reply.

 

Raindrops fell in an ambient haze around them, the sound punctuated by the occasional smack of a water droplet against leather or steel. Preston wasn't sure what to say, or if he should say anything. But he pressed forward, reaching out to the ghoul to at the very least express his goodwill. Something like this wasn't easy.

 

“Anything I can do?” he offered, stopping a healthy distance away.

 

Hancock lowered his head, then rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I dunno,” he grunted, taking another drag. “Not unless you got some addictol.”

 

Preston shook his head. “Didn't bring any with us, and haven't found any since we've been here.”

 

“Yeah, I know!” the ghoul snapped, casting a venomous eye at the minuteman before turning back to the house. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “It's just that, I know there isn't any.” He rested a palm just outside the front door and leaned his weight into it with a sigh. “She was beggin' for it. So I told her I'd go look. Didn't have the heart to tell her that it's pointless lookin'.”

 

A couple of seconds passed between them in silence while Preston tried to think of something to say. “Still, it's good to take a break.”

 

Hancock pushed himself away from the wall, then began pacing back and forth in front of the door while sucking angrily on his cigarette. “How would you know?”

 

“Because, I've seen it before. I've... been through it before.” Preston diverted his eyes to the ground momentarily with his admission.

 

His revelation, however, had no effect on Hancock, who only paused briefly to bark at the man over his shoulder. “What, you used to do med-ex?”

 

“Well, not exactly.” He cleared his throat, then nervously tightened his fingers around his musket. “I mean I did med-ex, sure. And pretty much everything else. But at the end of the day, it was the liquor that drove me. I'd wake up hung over every morning, get wasted every night. Cost me my job, my friends.... my family.” Preston's voice dipped somberly into his chest, and his eyes sealed shut as he forced out the words. Hancock waited for a beat, watching him as he struggled through his thoughts, before resuming his paces.

 

With a brief shake of his shoulders, Preston went on. “After my wife left me, I left for Fort Independence. Even though I was a drunk, I was still sober enough to know that my life needed a serious change if I was ever gonna make things right. So I set off, with enough to drink to last me all the way there. Figured I'd get sober once I joined up with the Minutemen. But...” Preston raised his head, attempting to establish a visual connection with Hancock. The ghoul felt a pair of eyes on him and stopped in his tracks. He took one final drag of his cigarette before flicking it away, then leaned back against the house, staring back at the man beneath the brim of his hat. “...But, I ended up drinking all my rations about halfway there. I figured I could make it the rest of the way, but it wasn't even eight hours before the shakes set in.”

 

Hancock fished in his pocket for another smoke. He calmly puffed it to life, waiting silently for Preston to continue.

 

“I had to detox out in the wasteland. By myself. I don't know if you know anything about alcohol withdrawal -”

 

“I know it can kill ya,” Hancock interjected, his voice level and matter-of-fact.

 

“Yeah. And I almost died. Actually, I think the Jet I brought with me is what kept me alive.”

 

Hancock looked at the man expectantly. It sounded like he wanted to keep going. But as a fresh silence rolled back in, and his voice was replaced by the sound of gentle rainfall, the ghoul gave an angry grunt and went back to walking back and forth in front of the door. “So you got a point?”

 

“Well, I...” Preston shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, and tried not to stare at the ghoul in front of him. It looked as if he would snap at any moment, and he realized just then that his confession didn't really help matters. If nothing else, he had hoped to extend some kind of a bridge between the two of them, or otherwise show his support. But the mayor of Goodneighbor had almost certainly seen it all before. He had probably seen worse, in fact. “I don't know,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess I'm just trying to say that, well, I understand what it is you're going through.”

 

“Hmph.” Hancock tossed his head back and cracked an acerbic smile, exhaling a stream of smoke into the frosty air. “Well ain't that just great.” He turned to the minuteman, maintaining his sarcastic grin. “You understand what I'm going through! Ain't that special.”

 

He chuckled wryly before closing in on Preston. Before the man had an opportunity to speak, he had been snatched by the collar, and was now uncomfortably close to the ghoul's disfigured face. So close, in fact, that he could feel the breath billowing from those gaping nostrils and rolling onto his own nose. He let out a low yip of surprise and pulled his gun even closer to his chest. Then he stood there, stunned and wide-eyed, as Hancock growled at him through clenched teeth.

 

“I've been addicted to and kicked every chem known to man. You don't need to fucking tell _me_ about that shit, I've _lived_ it. More than once.” Preston swallowed dryly over the lump in his throat, frozen by the furious gleam in Hancock's eye. He pulled the man even closer, so close now that their faces were nearly touching. “But _this...”_ His breaths began to get more rapid, and he seemed to draw each one in as deep as he could until his chest looked like it was about to explode. “You take what you went through, what I've been through, add it all up, multiply it by a thousand, and then you _might,_ just _might,_ have some small, minute, _infinitesimal_ understanding of what the fuck it is I'm going through right now!”

 

“Look, Hancock,” Preston began, attempting to pry the ghoul's fingers from his collar, “You need to calm down...”

 

“Don't you fucking tell me to calm down!”

 

Hancock pulled the man forward before pushing him back, and finally let go. He whipped his back to Preston and stomped several long strides in the opposite direction. The minuteman stumbled a little and reached up to where he had been held, straightening out the wrinkled fabric before replacing his hand back on his weapon. But other than that, he offered no response.

 

The ghoul clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times before coming to a halt, letting out a sigh of surrender. Reluctantly he turned back toward Preston, his face slightly lowered with shame from his overreaction. “I'm sorry about that, I...” Hancock hesitated, then met his eyes. “I know it sucks. I knew all this was gonna happen. I tried to be ready for it. I figured it would be easy. But there ain't no earthly pain that compares to seein' someone you care about suffering like that.”

 

The steady rain began to ebb, and the silence between drops was lengthening until it overtook the two of them. Then, from within the house came a high-pitched wail of pain, and Hancock visibly winced at the sound.

 

Preston didn't want to wait for another outburst. He strode toward the ghoul with stern purpose as he spoke. “Listen, why don't you let me take over for a while. Go eat something, get some rest. She'll still be here when you get back.”

 

He looked off in the distance, as if considering Preston's offer. He had to admit this vigil was beginning to take its toll on him, both physically as well as mentally. And if it had been anybody else but Scarlet in there, he would have let Preston take over without argument.

 

But it _was_ Scarlet. And no matter how irrational it was, all he could feel was the crushing guilt in his heart for having allowed her to get addicted in the first place. There was no way he could justify leaving her side...

 

Preston noticed the ghoul's inner conflict. “You told her you left to look for addictol, right?” For all she knows, that's what you're doing. You should step away for a couple of hours at least. Take care of yourself. Neglecting your own needs is only gonna hurt her in the long run.”

 

Hancock eyed the man incredulously and crossed his arms. “You want me to lie to her?”

 

He gave a non-chalant roll of his shoulders. “Well, how often did she lie to you about her addiction?”

 

His black eyes narrowed into slits, but only momentarily. Then he relaxed his arms, letting his hands fall calmly at his sides. “Yeah, well, two wrongs don't make a right, Garvey.”

 

“No, but a little white lie isn't going to make things any worse.”

 

Hancock swiped a stiff hand across his face and crinkled his noise. “You might just be right about that...” He let his shoulders drop, then placed his hands on his hips. “But I don't think she's gonna appreciate opening her eyes and seeing you sittin' there next to her. No offense.”

 

Preston raised his hand affably. “I'm aware of that. Unless you think there's something in the house she shouldn't get her hands on, I can stand guard out here.”

 

“You sure about that? I don't want her sneakin' off...”

 

“I promise, I'm not gonna let that happen.”

 

Hancock put his forehead in his hand, then began massaging his temples with his fingertips. The more he thought about it, the better a break from all this sounded. “You sure about this, Garvey?”

 

“I'm happy to do it. There's not a lot of work we can do while it's raining, anyway.”

 

Hancock nodded in acquiescence. Whether or not he was there for every minute of her recovery had no influence on how long it would take; she had at least another thirty-six hours of withdrawal to get through before it would finally let up. Even if Scarlet couldn't get any relief, it would be better for the both of them if he faced the remaining time with some food in his stomach and a few hours of sleep.

 

“Alright then.” The ghoul took several deep, centering breaths before finally handing the reins over to Preston. “I'll be back later. And I swear to god, if anything happens to her while I'm gone-”

 

“I know, I know!” he responded with a small smile. “I'm sure you have a shotgun shell with my name already on it.”

 

“You can joke all you want,” Hancock sneered as he slowly meandered away. “But trust me, you don't wanna be around when I go feral.”


	9. Family

“Don't you dare say it! Don't you _dare_!”

 

“I'm sorry, Sunshine.”

 

“No! No, fuck you, John!”

 

Hancock ducked as a chipped floral vase flew towards his head. It didn't break when it hit the wall, but crumbled once it fell to the floor.

 

Scarlet put a hand on either side of her head and curled her fingers into her hair. She paced around the living room in a frenzy, tugging her head back and forth so violently it looked like she was going to rip off her own scalp.

 

“You're just gonna have to ride it out...” He extended his arms and began making his way towards her, stepping as if he were literally walking on eggshells.

 

“I can't take this anymore!” she shrieked. She bolted into the kitchen. On her way in she swiped her coffee mug off the counter and hurled it towards the window. The window cracked a little but remained intact, and the mug broke into several large pieces. The anti-climactic result of her attempt to shatter something was only adding to her anger.

 

Hancock paused where he was, a cautious hand still held out to her. “Take it easy, Sunshine...”

 

She tore her hands away from her head and turned to him. The look she gave Hancock almost paralyzed him. It wasn't just her snarling face, her frizzy hair, or her bloodshot eyes. There was an aura about her that one could only describe as demonic.

 

“I can't! I can't, and you know it! Fuck, I _hate_ you so much...” Scarlet's voice undulated between a deep, smoldering growl and squeaking sobs. She had completely lost control to the point where she didn't even know what she was feeling. The pain was still there, as strong as it had ever been. But she had almost gotten used to it, now, which allowed the seeds of hatred and abhorrence to grow in between the gaps.

 

Hancock stood silently for another moment, determined to wait out the tempest of her repudiation. He had spent the afternoon and evening alone, in a house at the far edge of town, resting and recharging as Preston had requested. He almost wished he could just spend the night, stay there all the next day, and return when the worst of Scarlet's symptoms had finally subsided.

 

But he couldn't avoid her forever. She was waiting for him to come back. He had left under the false pretense of finding addictol. To his credit, he had taken a deeper look at a few of the houses, hoping the settlers had missed something. However, he knew the search was in vain. And he knew that he would have to walk back into their house without the one thing he had set out to find.

 

In a rage she began rummaging through the kitchen drawers. The clang of silver and plasticware flooded the house as she searched for who knows what. After a few seconds, she pulled out a rusty chef's knife and raised it up, then turned menacingly towards Hancock.

 

“Give. Me. The. Med-ex.”

 

Scarlet's cheeks puffed and hallowed with each breath. The knife visibly shook in her hand. Her pale lips twitched in front of grinding teeth. She was on the verge of losing it, and he knew it. She had reached a stage of paranoid delusion. Anything and everything was possible, and in her mind, if something was possible, it may as well be a certainty.

 

“I don't have any Med-ex,” he said, trying to be firm while keeping his tone as gentle as possible.

 

“Hand it over...” Her eyebrows hardened into a straight line and she glowered at him, her sticky tongue running over her cracked lips.

 

“Search me if you wanna,” he offered, extending his arms to the sides. “I don't have any.”

 

“Why the hell are you hiding it from me?!” Her lips curved down and her jaw dropped. A few desperate sobs shook her torso. She was so dehydrated that her waxy eyes could only turn red, and there wasn't enough moisture in her body to make any more tears. Her body had been dragged to the limit until it barely functioned, and he almost cried for her, seeing Scarlet as only a shell of her former self.

 

“I told you what I did with it,” he said. He had told her before. He dumped it in the river. He hoped that by sticking to the truth, repeating himself as much as he needed, she might snap out of the mental fog she was in. “I got rid of it. It's gone. All of it.”

 

“You liar!” she sneered. She took a threatening step toward him and raised the knife until it was almost above her head. “You just want it for yourself!”

 

“I ain't lyin', Sunshine,” he pleaded. He kept his hands up as if she were pointing a gun at him. He didn't want to come across as a threat. She was riled up enough as it was.

 

“Please, John!” The knife in her hand steadily dropped until it rested at her side. Her fingertips loosened on the handle so much that if she moved, it would have fallen from her hands. In an instant, her rage turned to distress, and she was now prepared to bargain with him, using whatever means necessary to obtain what he was holding... what she knew he had...

 

“Please, please...” Scarlet dropped to her knees. The hand holding the knife came to a rest atop her thighs, and the other hand clasped protectively around her forearm. “God damn it, it fucking hurts...”

 

As her head fell and the sobs of pain took over, Hancock lowered his arms. She looked like she was finally giving up. He began inching toward her, keeping a sharp eye on the knife in her lap. Fits of violence were common during this stage, and although the two-hundred year old blade probably wouldn't even be able to break the skin, he was wary just the same.

 

What felt like an eternity passed as he crept ever closer, each step painstakingly placed in front of the other, like she was a landmine that would detonate if he made even the slightest misstep. “Sunshine...” he crooned. He extended his arms again, palms up, inviting her to come to him. _Come to me_... he repeated in his head. If she would just allow him to hold her, convince her to seek refuge in his arms, he might be able to soothe her. At the least he could disarm her, maybe get her under control.

 

“Stop calling me that!”

 

She bolted up and lunged at him, knife first, an unbridled roar spewing from her mouth.

 

Hancock grabbed the wrist that held the knife and squeezed, pressing his thumb against the pressure point at the base of her hand. Almost immediately she let go of her weapon, but then proceeded to shoot her free hand toward his face in a white-knuckled fist.

 

He caught her fist in his palm before it could strike. Then, she emitted a whimper of frustration as he whirled her around, crossing her arms in front of her chest and effectively incapacitating her.

 

“Let me go!” she wailed.

 

He only tightened his grip, snatching a wrist in each hand and squeezing just to the point of pain.

 

“Calm down,” he said softly, pressing his lips to her ear.

 

“I said let me go!” She thrashed around as much as she could, but her weakened body wasn't a match for Hancock's strength. Keeping her immobile was hardly an effort for him, and he easily enveloped her small frame even amidst her frenzied flailing.

 

“I ain't gonna let you go until you calm down!” he stated, more forcefully this time.

 

“Let me go! You monster! You fucking _animal!_ This is all your fault!”

 

No matter how out of her mind she was in the moment, her words cut him to the core just the same. He really did feel like it was his fault. If he had only seen it sooner, if he would have noticed the warning signs, this all could have been stopped before it even started...

 

“I'm sorry, Sunshine.”

 

Scarlet jumped up and whipped her head back, trying to butt him in the face. But not having a nose, he found the attempted assault easy to avoid. Feeling nothing against the back of her head, she cried out bitterly, her head rolling from side to side. “You idiot! Why did you let this happen?!”

 

“I trusted you,” he murmured, his hot breath soaking into the side of her neck. “I thought you had it under control.”

 

“Well I fucking didn't! Why the hell would you trust an addict?”

 

Hancock found it increasingly difficult to control his own anger. It should have been easy in light of what was happening, but she kept pushing him, kept egging him on. It was bad enough that he had to feel responsible for her addiction. Her accusations penetrated him down to the bone, and compounded his guilt to the point where it had nowhere else to go but out.

 

He had tried to stay calm. But she just kept at it... kept backing him into a corner...

 

“Because I didn't think you were dumb enough to get hooked!”

 

“Oh, so I'm dumb, now?” she scoffed between sobs. She was still struggling in his arms, but her energy was beginning to wane. “I thought I was just a disappointment.”

 

“...Disappointment?”

 

“Admit it! You're still mad at me!”

 

“Mad at you?”

 

“Yeah, you haven't forgiven me, and you just want me to suffer. You want me to pay for it!”

His irritation was rapidly replaced with confusion. _Mad at her? Why would I be mad at her?_ She was obviously delusional. There wasn't much he could do if she was clinging to some hallucinatory fantasy. Hancock did the only thing he could think of and attempted to talk her through it, tried to insert some semblance of reason into her withdrawal-addled mind.

 

“What am I making you pay for?” He whispered harshly against her ear.

 

“Don't make me say it!” she snarled, jutting her elbows to the sides in a last-ditch effort to break free.

 

“I'm not mad at you, Sunshine!”

 

“Yes, you are!”

 

“Why would I be mad at you?”

 

“Because I killed our baby!”

 

Scarlet went totally limp. She dropped to her knees, and Hancock followed her to the floor, blinking several times in stunned silence.

 

The void was filled by her bellows of sorrow and desolation. Her eyes squeezed shut; if there had been tears in them they would have been released, but she was denied the satisfaction. She could only expel the sadness in a cry of mourning, and her mouth hung open as the regret poured from her very soul.

 

He loosened his grip on her wrists and slid his arms around her waist. She wrapped both of her arms around one of his and held on as she wept, the force of her sobs shaking them both as she let loose her pain.

 

That sound... it was unlike anything he had ever heard in his life. It was almost inhuman. It was so woeful, so dismal, so destitute. So primal.

 

He nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck, absorbing her tormented cries through his own skin. He felt it completely, and as his heart hammered against her back, it began to break, piece by piece, until it couldn't be put back together again.

 

Minute after agonizing minute he held her. Each peel of melancholy that erupted from within her was like a fresh wound in his scarred flesh. She still mourned it. She still regretted it, and it was because of him...

 

“I'm sorry, John! I'm... I'm... I'm so sorry!”

 

He ran a hand through her cropped hair, laying a firm kiss on the top of her head. “Shhh...” He couldn't think of anything to say. There was nothing he could do but comfort her in that moment. He had no idea that she had been carrying this burden around with her. If he had, he might have been able to do something. Say something. Maybe this all could have been avoided.

 

“I'm sorry...!” Scarlet forced her words into her sobbing throat until she was all but incoherent. For several minutes she grieved in his arms. She rocked back and forth to soothe herself, and he followed her motions, cradling her as if she was an infant.

 

“I wanna die, I wanna die, I wanna die...” She repeated the words like a sacred mantra, like a prayer to an unknown deity. She truly wished in that moment that someone would spare her the continued torment of living, that someone would come and take away her life, and her guilt and shame along with it.

 

But solace wouldn't come so easily. And even in her stupor she realized that. There was nothing she could do but belt out her anguish into the thin, dusty air, letting it vibrate the rotting walls and long-forgotten relics that surrounded her.

 

Scarlet had never been very religious. In fact, her inherent scientific skepticism made holiday prayers and church services just another triviality in her mind. But as she lay on the floor, crying and blubbering into John's shirt until it had been thoroughly soaked with saliva, she prayed. Prayed to god, or the devil, or anyone who might care enough to come and take her away from it all.

 

Minutes passed, stretching into a grueling hour that never seemed to end for her. But eventually, she ran out of steam. Her voice had been thoroughly used up until her sobs had turned into husky rattles that scraped their way out, slowly fading into silence. Even the pain of her withdrawals seemed to be letting up, at least for the time being. She leaned back into John's warm embrace, grateful for the heat of his body as her blood began to cool and her anger dissipated.

 

Adjusting her slumped figure, Hancock settled her head in the crook of his elbow and gently stroked her hair as the tempest finally left her behind. Once her breaths had evened out, he leaned forward, slid the glasses from her nose, and pressed a long kiss on the side of her forehead. Scarlet closed her eyes and inhaled his breath as it washed over her face.

 

The rain had returned after only a short break that day. Now, apart from their breathing and the beating of their hearts, it was all the two of them could hear. A standing light fixture cast its lackluster orange glow over the room. Everything was stillness.

 

Hancock took a deep breath, pulling his face away from hers so that he could regard her fully. His voice crept into the dead air and shadows, centering the both of them back in a bleak, however peaceful, reality.

 

“I... I didn't know you felt that way about the-” he stopped himself just short of saying the word 'baby,' afraid that such a stark description would send her spiraling out of control again. “I didn't know you had regrets about what happened.”

 

Scarlet pushed herself out of his lap. It looked like it took entirely too much effort, but she managed to get herself upright. Sitting with her legs crossed, she rubbed her red, swollen eyes and tried to blink the haze away. Sniffling once, she wiped her face on her sleeve, then drew in a shaky breath. “It's not that, necessarily...” She did her best to straighten her back, which was stiff from days of tension. But she kept her stare fixated on some random point along the back wall, too ashamed and tired to meet his eyes. “It's really more like... I regret what I did to you.”

 

His eyebrows furrowed and he leaned in, genuinely taken aback by her confession. _What she did to me?_

 

“What are you talking about Sunshine?” he said gently. The way she sat he could only see her profile, and the half of her face that was visible was obscured by darkness. “You didn't do anything to me.” Hancock used the flag around his waist to wipe away the grime from her lenses before handing her glasses back to her.

 

She placed the frames gingerly on her nose, then rolled her neck a couple of times to work out the kinks. “I mean, when I told you...” She paused, timidly folding her hands in her lap, and stared down at them. “You just... you seemed so happy. I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you so excited” She honed in on one of her fingernails and began picking the dirt out from underneath it, doing whatever she could to avoid looking at him. Saying it out loud, it felt like she was having to relive it all over again.

 

“I know you were upset when you told me. And I'll admit I was kinda shocked. But I thought the only reason you were upset is because it wasn't mine, cause you felt guilty or somethin'. I didn't want you to think that _I_ was upset, or that I would walk out on you. And I didn't wanna try to tell you what to do. I mean, if you wanted to have a kid, I was ready to be there. And if you didn't wanna have a kid, I was gonna be there too.”

 

Scarlet still didn't have the courage to face him, even though she caught his probing eyes in her periphery. Instead she turned her head even further away, peering into the dull, straining bulb of the floor lamp. “You told me ghouls can't have children.”

 

Hancock lit two cigarettes, then handed one to her before leaning back against the sofa. “That's right.”

 

“But is that something you want?” She finally turned to face him now, her expression placid yet wan, her eyes still puffy. “Do you wanna have a family some day?”

 

He crossed his legs and shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly, I never really thought about it before.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch and resumed smoking his cigarette, but Scarlet sat forward, anxiously waiting for him to elaborate. “I never really had a lot of experience with kids. I liked it that way, too. They're kind of a nuisance if all you wanna do is get drunk and high every night.” He paused, taking a thoughtful puff of smoke before going on. “But I don't know anymore.” A smile played across his lips, and his eyes sparkled as they locked in on hers. “You turned my whole world upside-down, Sunshine. You got me second-guessing a lot of the decisions I've made.”

 

Scarlet managed managed to smile back at him, but it was hallow and lifeless. Lacking the energy to maintain it, her lips flattened out shortly thereafter, and her eyes sunk to the floor.

 

“What about you?” he broached, his voice a comforting purr. “You ever wanna have any more kids?”

 

She took a pensive drag of smoke as she considered her answer, her eyes darting around the room and finally settling on nowhere in particular. “I never thought about it, either.” She murmured so lowly that Hancock had to lean in to catch her words. “We didn't plan on having Shaun. Nate and I kind of did everything backwards. Got pregnant first, then got married, then tried to find a way to love each other since we were stuck together.” She stopped for a moment, taking a few more puffs and sniffling up some residual congestion. “This time, though... I fell in love with you. And now we're getting married...” She raised her left hand to her face, briefly examining the sparkling ruby on her finger. “Part of me... part of me is curious. A part of me wants to know what it would be like, how things might be different. Better, somehow. Having a normal family.” She leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed the ash tray, the corners of her lips turning wryly upwards. “Well, as normal as you can get out here.”

 

It looked as if she were still working it out in her mind, and Hancock refrained from commenting. Even though she avoided looking at him, he kept his eyes firmly and attentively on her face, offering what non-verbal support he could.

 

After she put out her cigarette she slid the ashtray over to him, taking the opportunity to stretch her arms in the process. “If I did have another baby, ideally I'd wait until Shaun is a little bit older. Maybe four or five. But I guess he's ten years old now...” Scarlet paused to shake her head in frustration. “I don't know. It's hard for me to think that far ahead when there's already so much going on right now.”

 

“I understand,” said Hancock with a supportive smile. “You've got more urgent things to be thinkin' about.”

 

“Even once I have Shaun back and things settle down, I'm still not so sure about it. This isn't exactly an ideal world to be popping out a bunch of kids.”

 

He nodded his head and cleared his throat. “Well try not to worry about what I think. I'll stick with you either way. I just want you to be happy, Sunshine. In the end, it's up to you whether or not you wanna have more kids.”

 

A sparkle of life lit up her tired eyes and she beamed at him, her face full of gratitude. Even though she always knew he'd be there, it was good to hear it out loud. His reassurance was a dose of tranquility that eased her nagging insecurities. “I'm glad,” she said. But then she sighed, her expression sinking once again. “It isn't really up to me, though. I mean, it isn't an option for us, having kids. Unless we want to adopt.”

 

He put his chin in his hand, stroking his jaw pensively. “We could do that. Or...” Scarlet cocked her head at him, hanging onto his open-ended sentence as he lit another two cigarettes and handed one to her. “Or, we could always bring in someone else.”

 

The smoke she was inhaling caught in her throat, and she was overtaken by a violent coughing fit. As her eyes watered and she smacked her hand on her chest, Hancock chortled a little under his breath.

 

“Wh-what?” she stammered, finally regaining her composure.

 

“You know me. I ain't opposed to sharin'.”

 

“Yeah, b-but...” She coughed a couple more times, rapidly blinking through her surprise at his suggestion. “Another _man_?”

 

“Sure. Why not?”

 

She continued to gape at him in bewilderment as he settled back casually against the sofa, an aloof grin plastered on his face. Sure, he had admitted to being with men a handful of times before, and their experiment with Cait had been a satisfying one. Still, the idea of inviting another man to join them in bed seemed altogether different.

 

“But you... do you really like men?”

 

“Meh,” he shrugged. “I like to suck a dick about once a year.”

 

Scarlet couldn't contain the explosion of laughter that followed. Hancock smiled devilishly at her reaction, pleased with the way the color was returning to her cheeks.

 

“Seriously, though,” he said through her fading chuckles, “If you decide you wanna go that route and have your own kid, I'm open to it.”

 

“I'll keep that in mind!” she snorted, still grinning ear-to-ear. “If I can manage to find someone. It doesn't seem like the Commonwealth is a great place to find a quality sperm donor.”

 

“We can always take a trip down to D.C. and see Mac.”

 

“What?” she scoffed. They were both still smiling, and it was difficult to tell whether or not he was being sincere with his suggestion. It sounded like he was teasing, but with John, it wasn't always clear.

 

“Sure, he's a good guy,” he said casually. “And we know he's got live rounds in the chamber.”

 

Scarlet laughed again. “Yeah, that's true. Still,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him, “I didn't think you guys were all that friendly with each other. At least based on the last time you saw him.”

 

“I can probably convince him to come around. After all,” he said with wink, “We _do_ share a common interest.”

 

A hot spike shot up from her core and her cheeks started to burn. She quickly covered her face with her hands, shielding herself from his suggestive gaze. “John!” she chided with a bashful bite of her lower lip.

 

Hancock laughed softly to himself. As Scarlet was continuing to recover from her embarrassment, he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. Dogmeat was standing in the hallway, surreptitiously sticking his nose out into the living room.

 

“Hey there boy,” he crooned.

 

Scarlet lifted her head and turned to the animal, greeting him with a warm smile. “Dogmeat,” she said fondly, holding out her hand.

 

He crept over to her, cautiously nudging the back of her hand with his snout before laying down at her feet. She dug her fingertips into the back of his head and scratched him vigorously, and his tail swished happily back and forth over the carpet. “I'm sorry if I scared you earlier...” she said with a frown. No doubt the dog had been frightened by the heated argument that evening, and the shouts and shattering ceramic had driven him to cowering under the bed. He had stayed there long after things died down, and had only just emerged, being coaxed out by Scarlet's laughter.

 

Hancock watched the two of them fondly for a while, letting the dust of their conversation settle. All of her emotional energy had been spent, and at least for now, she appeared to be at peace with herself.

 

But Scarlet's thoughts almost immediately detoured back into darkness. Her face tightened into a scowl as she ran her hand along Dogmeat's back. “I feel bad, though,” she sighed. “That you can't have children of your own. It's not the most important thing in the world, but still... There's something special about it. I can't really describe it.” Tilting her head back, she blew a puff of smoke towards the ceiling with a far away gaze. “I wish there was some way you could.”

 

“It's alright,” he said affably. “It's probably for the best that I got out of the gene pool.”

 

He punctuated his words with a lighthearted smirk, but it did little to assuage her. “When I think about it, I feel like I'd love to start a family with you someday. Even though it wasn't planned, I liked being pregnant with Shaun. And the bonding I got from breastfeeding. But I don't know if I can just... have someone else's baby like that. I'd feel so guilty.”

 

“What's there to feel guilty about?”

 

“That I can have a baby and you can't.”

 

He chuckled and rubbed his back against the couch as he settled back into it. “Trust me, havin' your own kid ain't all it's cracked up to be.”

 

“I guess not,” she replied. But as she put out her cigarette and went back to petting Dogmeat, she did a double-take. “Wait, what?”

 

Try as he might to play it cool, Hancock's mouth visibly twitched. His eyes briefly widened when she leveled her gaze with him, and he quickly looked away. “I mean... I don't really feel like I'm missin' out.”

 

“No, wait.” Scarlet held her hand up. Her brows knit coarsely together, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds, considering what to say next. “Hold on a second. Is there something you're not telling me?”

 

Her stare was grim with accusation, and he found himself imprisoned by it, blindly groping for the ashtray and discarding the butt of his cigarette. Swallowing thickly, he offered a nervous smile in response.

 

“Well,” he began, looking off to the side, “I was meaning to tell ya...”

 

Scarlet stuck her chin out and her eyes widened ferociously. “What?” she bit out, digging her fingernails into her knuckles in an attempt to maintain her composure.

 

Hancock tried not to let her obvious irritation shake him too much. There wasn't a lot he could do about the fact that he hadn't told her. _Now is as good a time as any, I guess..._

 

“You have a kid!?”

 

He held up his hands, as if to shield himself from her outrage. “Not exactly...”

 

“Either you have a kid or you don't,” she fumed. “Which is it?”

 

“I have a kid...”

 

“And you didn't think to tell me about it?!”

 

“Now hold on!” He sat up on his knees and leaned forward. “It's a little more complicated-”

 

“What could be complicated about it?!” Scarlet jumped to her feet, steam practically shooting from her ears. Dogmeat followed suit and stood up next to her, looking curiously at Hancock.

 

“Let me explain...” Hancock warily rose from his position, moving slowly towards her.

 

“You'd better!” she snapped, recoiling from his advance.

 

“Alright.” He held his arms out, palms down, immediately set on the defensive. This wasn't the way he had planned on telling her about it. In fact, he had never thought about telling her at all. He had hoped it would be another facet of his past he could bury away, never to surface. But it was too late, now. The jig was up, and he had to come clean.

 

Scarlet glared at him, her fists at the ready. She looked like she was ready for a fight. The constant pain and lack of sleep was bad enough, and now to find out that he had been hiding something from her...

 

Hancock sighed and swung his arms at his sides a couple of times, then spoke. “I've got a kid. But... well... they ain't a kid anymore.”

 

She arched an eyebrow and took a small step back. _Not a kid anymore._ He hadn't been a ghoul all his life. And he was past fifty years old. It wasn't beyond the scope of imagination to accept that he had an adult child out there somewhere. “How old?”

 

“Uhh... twenty-three, I think?”

 

“You _think?”_

 

“I, uh... that is...”

 

“How could you not know?!” Scarlet flung her arms to her sides, and her hands opened as if to plead with him. She seemed torn between disbelief and rage, and he didn't know whether or not he should keep trying to explain himself or flee.

 

“Hear me out, Sunshine...”

 

She clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes. “Keep going.”

 

Hancock gulped, summoning his courage to bade her request. “Okay. So about twenty years ago, a Gunner comes knockin' on my door. I'm still livin' in Diamond City at that time, and I've still got smooth skin. Anyway, this guy comes to my door, and he's got a little girl with him. Maybe four years old. I dunno, I'm not good with ages...”

 

He paused, and Scarlet crossed her arms. Her jaw clicked slightly as she moved it from side to side, angrily awaiting his explanation.

 

“So he knocks on my door. He's got this little girl. Then he hands me this letter. I read it. Says I'm the girl's father.” He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders before continuing. “Guess her mother had died. I barely remembered who the woman was, but I wasn't in any position to deny it. Hell, anybody could have claimed I was a father and I would have believed it. I wasn't exactly careful back in those days.”

 

As he was speaking, her expression had gradually softened into something bordering on sympathetic. Her posture relaxed, and she looked receptive to his explanation, if not completely satisfied. “Okay. So what happened then?”

 

“I did what I thought I had to do. I... I took the kid in.” Scarlet nodded dolefully, but didn't say anything. He didn't wait for her to respond, and kept going before she could argue. “I raised her. Took her with me to Goodneighbor. And she stayed with me, even after I went ghoul.”

 

There was a pregnant pause. She stared at him with a sorrowful expression, bordering on knowing, but not quite understanding. Her lips moved, shaping the words, but her voice wouldn't follow. _Who?_ She wanted to say.

 

Hancock cut her off before she could stumble over the question.

 

“Fahrenheit.”

 

Scarlet held her breath. In the stillness, she could have heard the sound of each mote of dust landing on the floor if she bothered to concentrate hard enough. But the pain was resurfacing, and amidst Dogmeats pants and Hancock's careful words, she couldn't hear anything but the thrumming of her own heart. He had a child. And not just anyone; his own bodyguard.

 

“But she doesn't know. She doesn't know I'm her dad.”

 

If it weren't for pangs that plucked at her nerve endings, she may have fainted on the spot. But the surging pain kept her conscious, at least for the time being. “What?” was all she could manage.

 

He glanced to the left, then right, doing whatever he could to avoid her eyes. “I know. I know.” He tried to cut her off before she could say it. Tried to predict what she was thinking. _What she must think of me._ “I... I had been meaning to tell ya...”

 

Instead of animosity, though, Scarlet's face melted into tenderness. “You mean she doesn't know?”

 

Hancock closed his eyes against the guilt that stampeded towards him. “I... I've never told anyone.”

 

“Why not?”

 

On the surface, it seemed like such a simple question. Why wouldn't he have told her? What could he have to gain by keeping it secret? The truth was, since the beginning, he had been too embarrassed to say anything. Since the moment she had appeared, the little strawberry blonde girl who tumbled onto his doorstep. Being the person he was, he couldn't have possibly turned her away. He hadn't even bothered to look deeper into the issue. In the end, it didn't really matter. She was a child who needed him, needed his care, his guidance...

 

“She didn't need to know,” he said curtly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nobody needed to know. Wouldn't have helped anything.”

 

Scarlet frowned at him, overcome with a sadness that mingled with a slight imputation. She was being torn between her own indignation and soft sensitivity. He had kept it from her because he had hidden it from everyone else. It was just another secret that this shadow of a man had tucked away – another shameful facet of his past that was shielded from the rest of the world.

 

“You don't think she would have wanted to know? You don't think it would have helped, knowing who her father was?”

 

His disgrace was complete. Scarlet was a woman who had put everything aside for the sake of her child. She married a man she knew nothing about, relegated herself to a life of drudgery, abandoned her career, sucked it up, bore her burden for the sake of the unborn life she harbored. And her late husband had done the same. Shaun's life could have had a thousand different endings depending on what his parents had decided. But his parents had done their utmost to ensure that his life was a happy one. He couldn't say the same for his own daughter.

 

“I don't know,” he relented, his eyes sinking to the floor. “I don't know if it was the right thing to do. All I know is, I didn't want her to grow up in my shadow. I didn't want her to grow up thinkin' she was worthless, just cause I was worthless.” As her lower lip began to tremble, he leveled with her gaze, entreating her forgiveness. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.”

 

She lunged forward and threw her arms around his shoulders. Digging her fingernails into the fabric of his coat, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I don't care that you have a child,” she whimpered, giving an exasperated shake of her head. “I just wish you would have trusted me enough to tell me.”

 

Hancock met her embrace, carefully wrapping his arms around her waist. He nuzzled into the curve of her neck, giving it a gentle kiss before settling in. “I wish you woulda trusted me enough to tell me what you were feelin'.”

 

They held each other for a few moments, taking in the events of the evening. Scarlet knew she had wronged him. Hancock knew he had wronged her. The whole affair was abysmal, and they both knew it. There wasn't an easy fix. The only remedy to cure the madness that they had inflicted upon themselves was the underlying resolve that they loved each other. It wasn't much, but they hoped it would be enough to see them through.

 

“Maybe we should start bein' honest with each other from now on,” he said, his voice audibly shaking.

 

“Yeah,” she exhaled. “Maybe we should.”


	10. Lovesick

Scarlet was still asleep when he left that morning. She shifted a little under the covers when he kissed her cheek, but other than that, she offered no response to his departure. He whispered in her ear that he was taking off.

 

_“_ _Just gonna be gone for a little while. Be back soon.”_

 

He was relieved to say the least that she was finally sleeping. The truth of the matter was, he didn't want her to know he was leaving. Drawing from his own experience, he figured she would be out for the day. The med-ex withdrawals had finally subsided, and she was exhausted from the effort of simply enduring it.

 

Hancock pushed his arms through the sleeves of his red overcoat and shrugged it over his shoulders. He planted his tricorn firmly on his head. He loaded his shotgun and shouldered his pack, making sure to stuff it full of ammo and chems. Saying a brief good-bye to Dogmeat, he closed the door behind him. He said something to Preston – though he couldn't remember what – before he left Sanctuary.

 

While she was asleep, he had looked at her pip-boy for a clue as to where the traders were stationed. As well as he knew the Commonwealth, the diner that Scarlet had mentioned was unknown to him. And he definitely wasn't very confident about figuring out the computer she kept on her wrist. But after a few minutes of poking around, he was fairly sure that he had pinpointed the location. It wasn't that far from Sanctuary, and it shouldn't take more than a couple hours to get there.

 

He thought about what he would say the whole way there. He tried to think of something snappy or clever, or a witty one-liner to punctuate his arrival. His blood was roiling with a mindless fury, but as he walked, it was gradually tempered with a calm absolution. Over and over again he rehearsed what he would say, both to himself and aloud in the frigid air, clouds of steam escaping from his mouth as he spoke. Yet when he finally arrived, he forgot all of it, and settled for a level of simplicity that was almost eerie.

 

“Wolfgang, is it?”

 

He was a short, slightly built man with buzzed dark brown hair. His eyes and nose looked much too small for the rest of his face, which seemed to be pulled towards the center of his head. On his arms and legs, he wore a couple of pieces of pocketed leather armor, and had a dusty leather jacket buttoned neatly up his chest. He leaned nonchalantly against a half-erected lamp post, arms folded, regarding the ghoul coolly as he approached. A black woman wearing metal armor, along with a snarky expression, stood next to him, a bolt-action rifle at her hip.

 

“What'dya want?” He didn't appear phased by the fact that the ghoul knew his name. It wasn't too shocking, considering he was the only drug dealer for miles in any direction. Other than the bizarre apparel, he didn't think much of the stranger sauntering up to him.

 

His bodyguard, on the other hand, raised the nose of her gun until it pointed at the ghoul's stomach, and she narrowed her eyelids at his approach.

 

The noon-day sun revealed the probing eyes of a couple onlookers in the diner, most likely Trudy and her son Patrick. They had been casually watching him as he made his way down the crumbling highway, their interest slowly increasing with his nearness. Now that he had arrived, they were staring, but otherwise did nothing to make their presence known.

 

“The name's Hancock.” He stopped about fifteen feet away from the two of them, trying to keep a respectful distance. He had been holding his shotgun across his chest, but now let it fall to his waist, letting the barrel point harmlessly into the dirt.

 

Though there was a fair bit of tension in Hancock's demeanor, Wolfgang held a steady hand out in front of his partner. “Take it easy, Simone,” he said firmly, pushing himself away from the lamp post and standing at attention. He kept his stare firmly locked on the ghoul in front of him, but settled easily into a business as usual attitude. “You here to buy?” he grunted.

 

“Not exactly,” he responded, letting out the deep breath he had sucked in just a moment before. “I'm here on behalf of one of your clients.”

 

One corner of Wolfgang's cringing lips turned up as he clucked his tongue. He looked as if he knew what Hancock was going to say before he said it, but let him talk as a matter of propriety. “Oh yeah?”

 

The cocky sneer on Wolfgang's face made the skin on Hancock's arms bristle beneath his coat, and he was suddenly itching to punch the man in the nose. Circumventing any possibility of small talk, the ghoul got right down to the matter in question. “You made a deal with a woman a few weeks ago. Short red hair. Glasses. You remember her?”

 

There was a darkness simmering beneath his tone; it wasn't much, but it was enough to make Simone re-train her sights on the ghoul, despite Wolfgang's orders. “Yeah,” the man said, taking a few easy steps forward. “I remember her. From Sanctuary, right?”

 

Hancock nodded tersely. “Yeah, that's her.” He paused, simultaneously staring the man down while trying to choose his next words. But he waited so long to speak that it bordered on awkward, and Wolfgang's shrill bark broke the silence.

 

“So what'dya want? Spit it out.”

 

He did his best to keep his face from flinching, his only movement being the subtle tightening of his grip around his gun. “I'm here to cancel your deal,” he said flatly.

 

“Ha!” Wolfgang crossed his arms and tossed his shoulders back, his mouth widening into a haughty grin. “So the vault-dweller sent a ghoul to do her dirty work.”

 

“Yeah, that's right,” he replied, meeting the man's smile with a sarcastic smirk of his own.

 

“Hmph.” The man gave a cursory glance to his bodyguard, who chortled knowingly at him. “I don't usually negotiate with a third party.”

 

“Well in this case,” Hancock said lowly, “Maybe you can make an exception.”

 

He stroked his chin as if to consider the request, but his eyes still sparkled with a mischievous gleam. “Hmm. I dunno. I was gettin' a pretty good deal outta those trades.”

 

Hancock's brow dipped into a hard scowl. There were three types of people who sold chems out in the wasteland. One was doctors, who were fairy principled when it came to dealing with hard substances. Most of them had reputations to protect, and being indiscriminate with medical supplies was a good way to ruin it. The other chem merchants fell into one of two categories: dealers and pushers. When Hancock set off that morning, he had hoped it would be the former. Dealers were laid back, setting up shop wherever it was convenient, and made their living simply by being available to anyone who needed a fix. Pushers, on the other hand, were a ruthless breed. They relied on a steady influx of loyal customers like anyone else in the wasteland. Only instead of achieving those ends through hard work and honest deals, they preferred to secure business by getting people hooked.

 

Hancock had dealt with both varieties on numerous occasions. Part of his mayoral responsibilities included making sure the populace – himself included – was well-supplied with illicit substances. But pushers were explicitly forbidden from taking up a permanent residence within the city limits. He loathed having to deal with them, and typically only allowed them a few days in which to conduct their business before he showed them the door. Sure, he liked to get high just as much as the next guy. But he drew the line at that kind of predatory behavior. Seeing suppliers so willfully take advantage of their customers made him sick to his stomach.

 

He hoped that Scarlet's version of events had been accurate, that she had set everything up, and had traded with this man completely of her own volition. And to a degree, it probably had been her idea. She was an addict, after all. But judging from the brief conversation he had just engaged in, Hancock had already made up his mind regarding the man's character. His reluctance to cancel the deal was ample proof of his intentions.

 

“Yeah, I heard.” The ghoul squared his shoulders, casting a discerning eye on the man in front of him. “It was a really good deal. So good, you might even call it highway robbery.”

 

“Yeah, I guess I got the better end of it,” he said arrogantly. “So what? It ain't my fault that dumb bitch doesn't know how much shit is worth.”

 

Hancock's throat resonated with a dry chuckle, and his molars audibly squeaked as they scraped over each other. The insult against his fiancee hit him a lot harder than he had anticipated, and the ghoul struggled to keep himself from flying off the handle. “Only a low-life pile of Brahmin shit takes advantage of people when they're desperate,” he growled.

 

“Oh no!” Wolfgang threw his hands up and smiled in mock regret. “You found me out.”

 

“Look, I'm gonna make this real easy on ya.” Hancock took a deep breath and re-centered himself, allowing the mounting tension in his back to dissolve with a shrug. “You cancel whatever deal you had set up with her. Then, I want you to figure out the difference of what you owe her. You can do it in caps or supplies, it doesn't matter, but whatever it is I want you to send it to Sanctuary with Carla next time she passes through.”

 

“Ha! Is that all?”

 

“Not quite,” he answered, glaring at him with every shred of hatred he could summon. “Once all that's done, I want you to take your sorry excuse for a bodyguard here, pack up all your shit, and start walkin'. I don't care which way you go, but I don't want you to stop until you're at least fifty miles away from the Commonwealth. You feel me?”

 

Wolfgang and Simone briefly locked eyes, sharing a snickering smile before she snapped the barrel of her weapon up and aimed directly at Hancock's face. The ghoul stayed still, however, not even blinking at the escalating threat.

 

“You know what, actually, I have a better idea for ya!” Wolfgang sauntered forward, and momentarily tapped a fingertip against his lips. “I'll go ahead and cancel the deal. It ain't worth the trouble,” he added under his breath. “And I'll also go ahead and keep my caps. I'll set up shop wherever I damn well please. I'll sell chems to whoever I damn well please, and if that worthless junkie of yours comes back I'm gonna sell to her, too. I ain't goin' _anywhere_. How about _you_ ,” he said, pointing aggressively at the ghoul, “Turn your ass around and fuck back off to wherever it is you came from. How's that? Does that sound like a good deal to you?”

 

Simone stood a few short steps behind her employer. She raised her head up high while maintaining her deadly aim, baring her teeth menacingly at Hancock.

 

But instead of responding in kind, he held his shotgun loosely in his left hand, swinging it flippantly to the side. “Look here, pal,” he said coolly, his sugary voice undercut with a bittersweet bite. “I ain't lookin' to start a fight. You just stick to canceling the deal, promise to stay away from Sanctuary, and we'll go ahead and call it even.”

 

“Even?” Wolfgang scoffed. “You waltz up here with your demands, threaten us, try to run us out of the fucking Commonwealth, and you think we're even?” He cocked his head back towards Simone. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have her put a bullet in between your eyes, you god damn ghoul.”

 

“I agree,” she chimed in, glowering down her sights and cocking her rifle. “Just so you know, it's pretty fucking stupid to insult someone when she's got a gun pointed at you.”

 

In the space of one breath, Hancock dropped his shotgun at his feet, reached into the fabric of his belt, and in one fluid motion whipped his combat knife at the woman. He darted forward, following its path almost as swiftly as it flew. The blade landed fatally in Simone's throat, and he, being only a step behind, was instantly upon her. Without hesitation he grasped the handle and tore it from her flesh.

 

As a fountain of blood spurted from the hole in Simone's neck, she tried in vain to cover it as she fell to her knees, her face wide and frozen from the shock of what had happened.

 

Before Wolfgang had even been able to grab his pistol, Hancock had slammed his elbow into the man's jaw. The force of the blow knocked him completely off his feet, and the ghoul pounced on him, straddling his stomach and latching his hands around the man's stubbly throat.

 

Wolfgang instinctively reached for his neck and tried to pry the ghoul's hands away. But Hancock only held on tighter, leaning the weight of his entire body into the task of crushing his windpipe.

 

Hancock was finished controlling his rage. He roared at the struggling man beneath him, showering his face with flecks of spit. He snarled and swore, a malevolent fire painting over his coal black eyes as he watched Wolfgang's face turn from red to purple.

 

The man made a futile attempt at screaming, but all it served to do was push what little air was left in his lungs out of his gaping mouth. The veins on his temples bulged and throbbed around the palpable terror in his eyes. Rocking and writhing, he continued groping at the hands around his neck, but to no avail. The last of his strength had quickly been expended. In seconds, the flailing of his limbs abated, and his arms passively dropped to either side of his oxygen-deprived head.

 

Hancock waited with grim patience until there was no more movement, no more pulse, and the life had completely vanished from Wolfgang's vacant brown eyes. Only then, after several moments of absolute stillness, did he slowly release his hold, finger by finger, revealing the bruises his hands had left around the man's neck.

 

As he hoisted himself from Wolfgang's corpse, he felt eyes on his back. He turned towards them; Trudy and Patrick were standing outside the diner, frozen, rapt with horror at the grizzly scene they had just witnessed. The woman clutched her teenage son's shirt out of fear as Hancock stood up. He knew that they had been watching the ordeal from start to finish. All he could think to do is regard them with a curt nod before turning his attention back to Wolfgang, his lifeless body splayed out in the cold, hard dirt.

 

The pair looked on as the ghoul stooped over, making no secret of searching the dead man's pockets. He ran his hands over the leather garments, patting him down, seeking out something in particular.

 

Then he found it, tucked away in a pouch on his arm. Carefully, Hancock extracted a pair of small diamond studs, as well as a solid gold wedding band. He examined them for a moment, holding them out in his palm to catch the midday sunlight, ensuring it was in fact what he wanted.

 

“I got what I came for.” The ghoul stepped over Wolfgang's body, then looked down at Simone to make sure she wasn't going to get up. Tucking one of the studs and the ring in his breast pocket, he made his way towards Trudy and Patrick. The remaining diamond earring he held in his fingertips, and when he got close enough, he extended his arm. “Here, take it.”

 

Trudy stared at him warily for a few seconds before reaching out, palm flat. Hancock dropped the stud into it and she quickly snatched it to her chest, keeping a tight hold of her son's shirt as she did.

 

“Sorry for the mess,” he added, tipping the front corner of his hat at the two of them.

 

Retrieving his discarded shotgun from the ground and securing it in his holster, Hancock turned on his heel and began his journey back up the road towards Sanctuary, leaving Trudy and Patrick standing there in stunned silence, watching his steady retreat.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

 

Scarlet panted and heaved as she shrieked at him. A wave of nausea threatened to resurface, in no small part due to her constant worrying, and it took everything she could to choke it down.

 

“I was takin' care of something.”

 

“And you didn't bother to leave a note or _anything_ that might've let me know?!”

 

She woke up early in the afternoon, driven by thirst. Not finding Hancock in the house, she threw on some clothes and started poking around town. It made her a little uncomfortable the way the other settlers leered at her – no doubt they had been made aware of her situation. But she was able to do away with her modesty where John was concerned, and found it surprisingly easy to swallow her pride while she revealed her peaked face to everyone.

 

Preston was the only one who seemed to know anything about him leaving, but even he didn't know exactly where the ghoul had gone. Still plagued by the aches and irritation of her withdrawal, Scarlet's anger was quick to escalate. He never left without saying anything, at least to her. Apart from being rude, she was terrified not knowing where he was, or what kind of danger he might get into.

 

“I told Garvey I was leavin',” he argued gently. “And I said somethin' to you before I left.”

 

“Yeah, while I was asleep!” she shouted, stamping her foot into the threadbare carpet.

 

“I wasn't about to wake you up, Sunshine,” he said decisively. “You needed the sleep.”

 

“Did you stop to think about what would happen when I woke up and found you missing?” She scolded, her face turning red.

 

Hancock raised his palms in surrender, inching closer to her quivering frame. “I know. I just didn't wanna worry you, Sunshine.”

 

Apparently, that wasn't the answer she was looking for. Her eyes flashed with lightning behind her glasses, and sharp breaths whipped in and out of her flaring nostrils. “You didn't want to _worry_ me?!”

 

He lowered his hands, responding to her scathing question with nothing but a nervous gulp.

 

Scarlet found his silence to be nothing short of maddening, and she made no secret of her displeasure with the harrowing snarl on her face. “We _just_ talked about this!” She turned away from him, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “You need to be honest with me, John.”

 

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he summoned up the courage to respond. “I told ya, I had to go take care of somethin'. You got enough on your mind without havin' to worry about everything I do.”

 

“I'd be a lot less worried if you would just tell me what you were doing!”

 

She was worked up into a frenzy now, and Hancock couldn't do anything else but attempt to deescalate the situation. “Look, you really should go back to bed,” he said softly. He reached a tepid hand towards her, and his fingertips brushed softly against the fabric of her sweater. “You need to get some sleep. You've been through a lot.”

 

Scarlet smacked his hand away and turned back to him with an angry grimace. “Don't you _dare_ try to change the subject. I asked you a fucking question, John! Where were you today?!”

 

“Sunshine...”

 

“Stop! Just... just stop!” she screamed, turning her back to him. She closed her eyes as if to cut herself off from his heart-wrenching pleas. Placing a hand on either side of her head, she pressed her fingertips into her temples in vexation. She was trying not to cry. Goodness knows she had done enough of that in the past three days. “Quit trying to sweet talk me. I'm not an idiot you know...”

 

He watched in helplessness as her back shuddered with sobs. Almost by instinct, he reached out to her again, letting his hand come to rest over her shoulder. “Look. You need to trust me on this,” he began, appealing to his own authority. “It's not something you need to worry about. It's over and done with, and now I'm home.”

 

Scarlet whirled on her heel and leaned in as she faced him, boring into his charcoal stare with her icy blue eyes. “I. Don't. Care!” she howled, the sheer volume of her voice rattling the aging windowpanes. “You can't keep lying to me!”

 

“I ain't lyin'!”

 

“Not telling me the truth counts as lying!”

 

Hancock huffed and rolled his eyes. “Why can't you just let it go? Why can't you just accept the fact that there are some things you don't need to know?” He did his best to meet the level of Scarlet's stubbornness, squinting at her ruefully. There was a reason he hadn't told her where he was going. She was bound to overreact, like she was doing now. He had gone to see Wolfgang with the intention of tying up any loose ends, save her from any future hassle. Telling her about it would negate the whole purpose of his visit. And though he hadn't gone into the situation with the objective of killing anyone, he felt like he was left with no other choice.

 

He couldn't tell her what happened. It would only make her angrier, only add to her already tarnished view of him. Or worse, she would feel guilty, somehow responsible for the outcome.

 

“If it has to do with me, then I _definitely_ deserve to know!”

 

“I'm trying to protect you, Sunshine.”

 

“Protect me from what? The truth?!”

 

“If it doesn't help anything, then yes! I'm protecting you from the truth!”

 

“So I'm supposed to just blindly trust you, like I always do!” She paused, doing her best to control the quivering that threatened to overtake her voice. “Well guess what? Maybe I don't trust you anymore! All you do now is go behind my back. You won't tell me about your past. You had a fucking _child_ that I didn't know about, and if I hadn't figured it out, who knows when you would have told me? Never?! I know you've got some... some... _bullshit_ that you're trying to hide. We all do. But you asked me to _marry_ you, and you can't even tell me where you're going, what you're doing-”

 

“You wanna know where I was?!” Hancock seized her by the shoulders, shaking her roughly out of her rant. “You really wanna know?!”

 

Scarlet froze in his grip, staring back at him with her jaw agape. She did want to know, but she was temporarily paralyzed by the strength of his hold and the potency of his words. Not even finding herself able to manage a nod, she waited silently for him to continue.

 

“I took a trip down to the diner, to see your chem dealer, Wolfgang. I wanted to talk to him. Make sure he'd never bother you again.” Scarlet balked but stayed silent, allowing him to keep going. “And I was prepared to do whatever I had to do, say whatever I had to say to get rid of him.”

 

Hancock frowned and pressed his scorched lips tightly together. Her eyebrows drew curiously to the center of her forehead, and she stammered in the wake of his silence. “What... what happened?”

 

He sighed and averted his eyes, but still kept a hold of her arms. “It didn't go exactly like I planned.”

 

“Tell me,” she whispered, following a strangled gulp.

 

He took one of his hands away from her arm and covered his eyes briefly, dropping his head almost shamefully. “I told him to cancel his shipments, pay you back what he owed you for the trade. And...” He let both of his arms fall to his sides and looked back at her reproachfully. “I was pissed. I wanted him gone. I told him to fuck off, leave the Commonwealth for good. As you can probably imagine, that didn't go so well.”

 

Scarlet clasped her hands together and held them to her chest. Her eyes bored into him beneath her lowered brow, frightened, yet curious. “What happened?”

 

“I killed him.”

 

Her lungs pulled in the barest hint of a gasp, and she recoiled ever so slightly. She knew that he was was an accomplished killer. In fact, it had been the very first thing he had done the moment she met him. After stumbling injured into Goodneighbor, a man named Fin had immediately threatened her. And Hancock wasted no time in putting a knife in his gut and letting him bleed out in the center of the square. He may have been as tender as a lamb with her, a kind and fastidious guardian, a generous and totally unselfish lover, and a paragon of morality, but it didn't erase who he was, or at least of who he was capable of becoming.

 

“You... killed him?”

 

The fear in her eyes hit him squarely in the chest and almost knocked the wind out of him. The last thing he wanted was for Scarlet to look at him like he was a monster, or some kind of heartless, murderous thug. More than anything else he wanted her to feel safe with him. He wanted her restless spirit to find peace when they were together, to feel like she could escape the torment of her everyday existence, even if it was only for a few moments. But as he watched the moisture pooling in her bottom lids and spilling onto her cheeks, his already troubled conscience felt like it was being torn to ribbons. He would never be good enough for her, and this was just one more piece of evidence to support that belief.

 

“I didn't mean to...” he began, entreating her with his heavy-hearted stare.

 

“John...” her lower lip trembled uncontrollably, and an endless stream of teardrops kept running like waterfalls over her pale face.

 

“I'm sorry, Sunshine.” He looked down at his feet, then closed his eyes, trying to block out whatever was going to happen next.

 

“John...”

 

His eyes snapped open, and he almost fell over as her body crashed into his and her lips collided with his own. As she swept her tongue into his mouth, he could taste the saltiness of her tears that had fallen against her lips. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lashes wet and sparkling, and she shook even as she forced herself harder into him.

 

It took him a moment to collect himself and return her kiss. Even then, he was hesitant to wrap his arms around her waist. He tried to reciprocate at least some of what she was throwing at him, but he was so stunned he could hardly breathe. He attempted more than once to shut his eyes and give himself up to her affections, but he couldn't keep from staring.

 

At some length she pulled away from him. Her hands were laced together around his neck and she practically hung from him, resting her chin against his chest and looking up reverently into his eyes with a broad smile.

 

“What..?” he breathed, blindsided by her reaction. _She's not angry?_

 

Anger, it seemed, was the furthest thing from her mind.

 

“How did you do it?” She was nearly glowing as she asked him. Her teeth caught her lower lip, and her eyes gleamed with adoring fascination.

 

Hancock was still coming to grips with the bizarre nature of her response. “I, uh, I had to take out his bodyguard first. She had a gun on me and mine wasn't ready, so I...” he paused, blinking a couple times at the rapt focus on her face. “I threw my knife. Got her in the throat.”

 

She nodded almost imperceptibly, silently urging him on. “Then I elbowed Wolfgang in the face. And while he was on the ground I pinned him down and choked him.”

 

Scarlet's breath hitched. “You _strangled_ him to death?”

 

“I had my knife. I guess I could have slit his throat...” he said reluctantly. “I just... god damn it I was so angry...” He looked away from her, embarrassed at the thought of losing control the way he had.

 

But she didn't seem to care. She jerked her arms, prompting him to turn back to her. “I can't believe it...” The surprise in her voice melded with a bright smile that confused him even more.

 

“Are you... mad at me?”

 

“ _Mad_ at you?” She was still crying as she jumped up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, but he could feel the grin on her lips, and even felt the pulse of a chuckle in her breath. “John!” She grabbed him by the face and showered him with kisses, on his forehead, the bridge of his missing nose, his cheeks, his chin, then back to his lips. “You did all that for _me?_ ”

 

Scarlet came back to rest on her heels, caressing his face reverently as she looked into his eyes. He looked down at her, a smile slowly creeping across his lips as he began to understand. He was sure she would be upset. There were numerous reasons for her to disapprove; going off on his own, initiating a confrontation, putting himself in harm's way. And she had been upset initially. But killing Wolfgang was a labor of love, a testament to Hancock's devotion. He had killed men before for lesser reasons, and even this situation didn't exactly warrant such extreme measures. But he was crazy to begin with. And now, he could add lovesick to the equation. Yes, it was madness, but it had all been for her, and in spite of how terrible it was, she was overcome with gratitude, and was swept off her feet by how over-the-top his gesture was. It flattered her to no end.

 

“Anything for you, Sunshine.”

 

Her insides ached. Her heart caught fire and the heat rushed into her head, filling her with a maddening desire. She latched onto the edges of his coat and kissed him again, this time dragging him over to the couch as she did. As his legs hit the edge of the sofa and he fell back into the cushions, she jumped up into his lap, grinding her hips against his as she furiously began removing her clothes.

 

Hancock did his best to take his coat and shirt off amidst her continuous kisses. His cock quickly filled with blood and hardened, pushing back against her clit as she slid back and forth over it. As soon as she removed her bra he took hold of her breasts with both hands, drawing a nipple into his mouth. Scarlet tossed her head back as she felt the warmth surrounding it, and hissed as he sucked viciously at it.

 

Her pants turned into moans as he laved at her breasts, and the motion of her hips was steadily increasing until she was working herself up just short of release. But before she could give herself the satisfaction, she jumped up and squirmed out of her pants just as fast as she could.

 

Hancock took in the sight of her before him, fully nude, her bosom rising and falling with her pants of ardor. She removed her glasses and tossed them somewhat carelessly on the coffee table. The hunger in her eyes pierced him like frozen glass, and he was locked into the magnetism of her stare.

 

Without looking he began fumbling with the button of his pants. Scarlet swiftly crouched down in front of him, spreading his knees apart and kneeling between them. She hurriedly unzipped his trousers and ripped them down his legs. His newly freed cock sprung up and bounced against his naval, smearing a touch of his precum against it in the process.

 

She wasted no time in enveloping the base of his shaft in her palm. Salivating with need, she licked her lips as she applied increasing pressure to her grip. She ran her fingertips along one of his thighs. Hancock shivered and groaned, then she took his head into her mouth, creating a seal around it with her lips while she circled it with her tongue.

 

“Fuck...” Hancock whispered, allowing his hand to drift behind her head. Scarlet closed her eyes, focusing on her task as he watched her. A trickle of saliva began leaking from her mouth and traveled down the length of him. She took advantage of the lubrication and began twisting her hand, working his base while continuing the motion of her tongue.

 

Slowly she began bobbing her head forward and back, taking more and more of him until before long the entirety of his cock had disappeared into her mouth. Scarlet's eyes squinted shut as she pushed her face into his groin, concentrating on suppressing her gag reflex as his massive organ slipped into her throat. As he watched her lips run along his length and felt the heat of her breath on his balls, his head fell back and he grabbed a fistful of her hair.

 

He held her steady against his hips. And as he forced himself as far as he could into her throat, her fingernails dug into his legs. A muted squeak plucked her vocal chords and vibrated against him. He could feel her pulling away, but he maintained his pressure, the pull of his hand and the push of his hips, stretching her endurance to the limit before he finally released her.

 

She withdrew and gasped for breath. She was smiling, though, a foamy ribbon of spit connecting her bottom lip to his glistening member.

 

Taking only a few seconds to recover, she dove back in once more, swallowing him completely and sucking until the sides of her face hurt from the stress of the effort. Hancock looked down at her and grinned, enjoying the way she was relishing her subjugation. He was passive as she withdrew his length and came back over him with her warm, wet lips, and his touch turned gentle as he ran his fingertips through her hair.

 

But he could tell she wanted more. She devoured him with a rabid hunger, and her fingernails pulsed into his flesh once again. On her next inhalation, he suddenly took hold of her hair once again, repeating his exercise in control.

 

This time she moaned deeply, even as she coughed and gagged around him. He chuckled darkly and sucked in a greedy breath. After a moment he could feel her recoiling again, her body reflexively fighting against his invasion. He reached around the base of her skull to steady it while he fucked her throat with several short, sharp thrusts, and only when she was nearly tearing away the flesh of his thighs did he finally relieve her.

 

“That's a good girl.” His face was a mixture of pride and satisfaction, and she looked up at him with wide, teary eyes, smiling as she spit out the sticky mess that had been pooling in her mouth to bathe his pulsing dick. She stroked him as she caught her breath, sitting forward on her knees so that he could take in the sight of her heaving chest.

 

Taking her chin in his thumb and forefinger, he brought her face to his mouth. She parted her lips for him and he darted his tongue inside, flicking it over hers. Once he had gotten his fill he guided her away, giving him an ample view in which to drink in her tear-streaked face and the lustful thirst in her wide eyes.

 

“Come up here,” he crooned, patting his lap.

 

Scarlet stood up slowly, carefully releasing his cock. She placed a knee on either side of his hips and steadied herself on the back of the sofa. He kept his hands to himself, allowing her to take his cock and line it up with her opening. She craned her neck to the side, trying to assess her position as well as watch him vanishing within her center.

 

She held her breath as she sat down over his erection, not letting it out until he was completely enveloped, her clit pressed against his body. Still clutching the back of the couch, she ground her hips in circles, relishing the almost painful force of his head stretching and straining at her cervix. She pressed her lips together and suppressed her cries, riding it out until the pain had melted into an exquisite indulgence.

 

Her gyrating gradually intensified, building until she was sliding up and down his length. Her head fell back and her eyes shut, as they often did when she was overcome with pleasure. But Hancock reached out and grabbed her swaying breasts by the nipples, tugging them towards him with a sharp jerk.

 

She cried out as her eyes bolted open, and she looked down at his face, her lips sensuously parted, her features twisted in a combination of torment and titillation.

 

Hancock kept her nipples firmly between his fingers as she rode him, every so often giving them a pinch or a light slap if he noticed her focus slipping away. He loved looking into her eyes while she came. And as she inched closer and her speed increased, he slid his hands down to her hips, bearing his fingertips into the flesh of her buttocks so hard it made her scream.

 

Now she bounced feverishly on his cock, slamming herself down and grunting with each wet smack of her pussy lips against his skin. He assisted her as much as he could, guiding her up and down while keeping a firm hold of her ass.

 

Scarlet strained to keep her eyes open now. She was so close he could feel it, the walls of her pussy tightening around him with each thrust. And even though he was edging himself, he couldn't stop smiling – he savored the way her expression went blank, the way her body tensed, the way her hips slammed into his.

 

“You gonna cum?” he almost snickered. His ego had been swelling along with her rapaciousness; he adored the way she hungered for him, the way she fucked him like her life depended on it.

 

She couldn't speak, but nodded through her escalating sighs and moans. Her face and chest flushed red, and suddenly she cried out, this time in ecstasy, as an orgasm rippled through her body from the inside out.

 

Hancock wasn't far behind, feeling his head exploding deep inside of her while she was still in the throes of her own pleasure. But he barely made a sound while he came. He focused on her face, her movements, her sounds, devouring her visage until it was a snapshot encoded into his brain.

 

He relaxed his grip in time with the slowing of her thrusts, letting it dissolve into soft caresses that traveled the length of her back and shoulders. She collapsed against him and buried her face into the side of his neck. Even as the tension in her muscles abated, he could still feel her pussy spasming intermittently around his shaft, eliciting a soft squeak from Scarlet with each pulse.

 

Several minutes passed as she recovered from her climax. Eventually she sat back up, sighing contentedly at the sensation of his cock softening within her.

 

She examined him with a blissful grin, and swept her palm along the side of his face. “I love you so much, John,” she whispered.

 

In light of the events of the past four days, the purity and adoration she now expressed made him want to burst with happiness. As her hand traveled down his cheek and came to rest on his shoulder, he laid his palm over it, curling his fingers in between hers. “I love you too, Sunshine,” he said, the purr in his voice swollen with gratitude. “More than you'll ever know.”


	11. Brotherhood

“I could carry you, you know,” Scarlet teased. She had disabled as much of the suit's systems as she felt comfortable with in order to save power, but just the basal enhancement the T-45's frame provided made her feel supernaturally strong. They had packed heavily in anticipation for their journey to the Glowing Sea, but even shouldering all of their gear, she didn't feel weighed down in the slightest.

 

“I think I'll pass,” Hancock responded with a cheeky grin.

 

“Are you sure? It's a pretty long walk.”

 

He smirked at her, laughing softly at the playfulness in her eyes. After only an hour of walking she had already removed her helmet, and it hung over her back along with their other supplies. As much as she enjoyed the inherent power of the suit, she found the helmet hot and claustrophobic. And she especially didn't like the way it obscured her natural view of John, who she now awkwardly towered over.

 

“Don't worry. I won't slow you down.” He did have to walk a little more quickly than he was used to in order to match the long strides the power armor gave her. And even though she had made it clear she was willing to slow her pace for him, he wasn't about to make that kind of request. He was almost as anxious as she was to meet Virgil in the Glowing Sea, in part to get closer to finding Shaun, but also for the sheer purpose of getting this dangerous task over with as soon as possible.

 

“Well if you start to get tired, let me know,” she added, her smile fading into an uneasy frown.

 

“I ain't gonna get tired,” he insisted calmly, reaching into his breast pocket for a cigarette.

 

“You say that now,” she scolded, “But I'm gonna be pretty angry if we get in a fight and you've collapsed from exhaustion before I've even fired a shot.”

 

A singular burst of laughter erupted from his chest as he lit up his smoke. “Damn, Sunshine! We ain't even married yet, and you're already nagging me to death.”

 

Scarlet immediately shot him a dirty glare, and her face turned crimson. “Excuse me?”

 

The sight of her would have made him go pale if he hadn't been a ghoul, and he stepped away from her as if to avoid an attack. “Whoa now, take it easy!” he said nervously. “I was only jokin'.”

 

“Hmph,” she snorted, looking away from him. “Well I didn't find it very funny.” Maybe it was just the stress of traveling, but she was less than appreciative of being patronized, and the blatant sexism of his remark was a little too over-the-line. It reminded her of something her former husband would have said without irony, and even though Hancock claimed to be joking, it decisively rubbed her the wrong way.

 

He looked like he was about to apologize when he stopped. His back went rigid, and he gripped the butt of his gun in one hand while holding the other arm out in her direction. “Wait a second. Do you hear that?”

 

Scarlet paused a few paces ahead of him and looked back, straining her ears. Something floated on the wind, echoing faintly across the landscape. There were rapid pops and faraway voices, the unmistakable sounds of a firefight. She began scanning the horizon, trying to hone in on it with her eyes as well as her ears.

 

“Yeah...” she mumbled perplexedly. The creaking of the joints in her suit along with the thundering of her footsteps made it nearly impossible to hear anything else over it, and she was surprised that Hancock had managed to pick up something so far away

 

“Sounds like trouble,” he said lowly, drawing his shotgun from his hip and holding it across his chest.

 

“Then we'd better stay away from it,” she said resolutely before continuing on her path.

 

“Hey, hold on!” he shouted, running after her. “We can't just walk away. What if someone needs help?”

 

She halted again, turning on her heel to face him and scrunching her forehead in frustration. “They're just gonna have to get by without our help,” she said sternly. “I've barely got enough power to make it to the Glowing Sea. We don't have the time or the energy for a detour.”

 

It was true that although she had repaired most of the T-45's damage, they had failed to find very many fusion cores to keep it going. Her confrontation with the Deathclaw had sapped a great deal from the one they recovered in the museum, and their search of Vault 111 had only yielded two spares. She was dubious that they would even make it to their destination, let alone have enough left over to stave off the enemies and the radiation they would encounter.

 

“If it's somethin' I can take care of myself, I will,” he insisted. “But we gotta at least check it out.”

 

“No, we don't.” She tried to cross her arms, but the bulkiness of her suit made it difficult, and she settled for putting her hands on her hips.

 

“When you were runnin' to Diamond City, getting bit and taking bullets, didn't you wish someone would've stopped to help you?”

 

She sighed and averted her eyes. He had a point. But she wasn't willing to concede her stance on the issue. “Well no one _did_ help me, and I still made it.”

 

“Yeah, barely,” he scoffed.

 

“Look, I get it,” she said, attempting to show some sympathy in light of her position. “I know you wanna help people, and so do I. I really do. But this suit...” she gestured towards her chest, “I've already told you we're barely gonna make it to the Glowing Sea. We can't afford to stop and help everyone who needs it.”

 

“We can afford a lot more than most people in the Commonwealth.”

 

Scarlet's scowl disintegrated as she began to accept the fact that he wasn't going to let it go. _Damn it, he's so stubborn!_

 

“Besides, maybe they have some fusion cores they can give us.”

 

“I highly doubt that.”

 

“Do what you want,” he said tersely, cocking his shotgun. “I'm gonna go see what's happening. Come with me or stay here, it's up to you.”

 

He didn't wait for her to reply. He simply turned and began making his way towards the distant ruins, kicking up a cold cloud of dust behind him.

 

Scarlet rolled her eyes but trudged along after him. “John, wait!”

 

He halted in his tracks and turned back to her, waiting for her to catch up. She looked perturbed, but compliantly pulled her laser pistol from her holster and readied it in her grip. He smiled a little, but it quickly disappeared after giving her a once-over. “You should probably hang back. You're like a walking bulls-eye in that suit.”

 

She nodded, albeit grudgingly, and the two of them set off, Scarlet trailing a fair stretch behind.

 

She occasionally checked her pip-boy on the way, trying to ascertain their whereabouts. They hadn't made it far from Sanctuary, only making it as far as Cambridge. According to her map, they were closing in on a police station. She almost laughed out loud, thinking that they may in fact find a fusion core in the old building.

 

The sounds of battle grew louder with their approach, occasionally dying out for a moment before revving back up again. “Energy weapons,” he called out over his shoulder. “Probably Gunners.” He increased his pace slightly, and Scarlet lengthened her strides.

 

The thought made her more than a little nervous. Gunners were better outfitted than most of the unaffiliated bands of raiders, at least in her limited observation. And just the mention of the gang of mercenaries was enough to twist up her insides as she recalled her previous experience with them...

 

As they finally closed in on the police station, Hancock held up his hand, signaling her to stop. He looked behind him to make sure she had heeded his instructions before forging ahead, crouching slightly as he advanced.

 

Her throat tightened with apprehension as she watched him disappear behind a wall and out of sight. She raised her pistol preemptively and debated with herself whether to put on her helmet. Standing still, she could hear the skirmish much more clearly. There were indeed energy weapons going off, and in-between them a man's voice barked indistinguishable orders. There was also a noise she hadn't ever heard before – an animalistic growl. No, a chorus of growls, hisses, shrieks...

 

 _What the hell is that?_ She swallowed hard, the idea slowly dawning on her that there was yet another wasteland creature she hadn't confronted. And there wasn't just one. Judging by the sound, it was a whole pack of them.

 

After a couple moments Hancock emerged, briefly motioning for her to come and join him before ducking back behind the walls. Scarlet swallowed her trepidation and obeyed his command. With each step, she had to keep reminding herself that she was wearing an advanced suit of armor that would be able to withstand just about anything.

 

Squeezing in-between the wall and a chain link fence, she sidled up next to him as quietly as she could. “What's going on?” she whispered.

 

“Ferals,” he said.

 

She peered through the holes in the fence, unconsciously making a face at the sight of them. They were people. Or they used to be. They were shrunken and withered, hairless and gnarled. They reminded her of zombies with the way they scuffled blindly forward, arms outstretched, occasionally darting at a target with a snarling screech. Their skin was patchy, exposing bits of bone and sinew. And it was burned, in much the same way that Hancock's was.

 

 _So these are feral ghouls..._ from the way everyone described them, she expected something more human. More like Hancock and Daisy, or any of the other ghouls she had seen. But the contrast was great, so stark and far removed from normal ghouls, she wondered how anyone could draw a comparison between the two of them. She recalled with some bitterness the way Marcy had acted towards Hancock, using the similarity between him and ferals as an excuse for her rudeness. _How can you not tell the difference?_

 

“Where are the Gunners?” she asked.

 

“I can't see who they're goin' after, but I'm startin' to think it ain't Gunners.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “C'mon,” he said, jerking his head to the side. “Let's go see if we can get a better view.”

 

As they hugged the fence and made their way towards the back of the station, Scarlet cursed the clanking of her armor. Though the din of battle was enough to drown her out, it made her nervous just the same.

 

Suddenly he stopped, and Scarlet nearly ran into him. He squinted through the fence and down the narrow crack between two walls, a strip of light streaking his face in the shadows. “Oh, fuck me...”

 

“What? What is it?”

 

“Yeah, I was right. It ain't Gunners,” he said acerbically.

 

“Who are they? Settlers? Traders?”

 

He let out a despondent sigh, then stepped away from the fence and dropped his shoulders. “It's the fucking Brotherhood.”

 

“Brotherhood?”

 

He wordlessly stepped to the side, gesturing with his elbow for her to look through the fence. She started a little as her glasses hit the grated wall before settling in. She strained to see through the crack, squinting against the penetrating band of sunlight that burned her retinas. As her sight adjusted, she could make out the front of the station, a row of barriers, military ammo boxes...

 

And a man, or what she assumed was a man, dressed completely in a suit of power armor.

 

“Are they with the military?” she asked, maintaining her focus on the glimmers of action she could discern with her limited view.

 

“I guess you could say that.”

 

She turned to look at him. He was scowling, and the disapproval in his voice was more than evident. Frowning at him, she quietly waited for him to elaborate.

 

“They're a bunch of thugs,” he said, noting the keenness in her eyes. “Just as bad as the Institute, if you ask me.”

 

Just then, a woman's voice crashed through the violence. _“Rhys is down!”_

 

_“Go help him! I'll draw the attack!”_

 

Scarlet laced her chunky metal fingers into the holes of the fence, desperately trying to catch another glimpse of what was going on. They were obviously in trouble, but judging by the way Hancock leaned back against the wall, he wasn't in eager to offer his assistance.

 

Her head whipped back and forth between him and the battle, and she was totally stumped by his inaction. “So should we help them?” she asked, barring a suggestion from Hancock.

 

More silence. “Are they good guys or bad guys?” she persisted.

 

“I think they got it under control.”

 

She glared at him. He had deliberately dodged her question, and she didn't appreciate being so easily dismissed. “Answer me,” she said in a severe whisper.

 

“They ain't exactly bad guys, but they ain't exactly good guys, either.”

 

Scarlet pursed her lips in frustration. “They probably need our help though, right?”

 

He stared blankly ahead, unresponsive.

 

“Right?!” she hissed.

 

“I don't know...”

 

Scarlet stood up, taking full advantage of the intimidating height of her suit as she spoke to him. “They've got a man down,” she said with authority. “If we don't get in there they could be overrun.”

 

He narrowed his eyes as he looked up at her, tightening his fingers around his shotgun. “Now why are you so eager to help all of a sudden?”

 

“What...” she scoffed, reminding herself to keep her voice down. “You were the one who wanted to help in the first place!”

 

“I didn't know it was the fucking Brotherhood.”

 

“What difference does it make?” Scarlet was pretty sure that the reason for Hancock's reluctance boiled down to some kind of personal beef. The way he held back but didn't simply walk away was telling. He was evidently conflicted in some way. And though she didn't know the specifics of his issue with this “Brotherhood,” she was sure about one thing; there was a group of people in serious trouble. They were slowly being overtaken by a mindless horde of creatures that seemed to be growing in numbers even as they fell. If they didn't intervene, and do it quickly, these people were almost certainly going to die.

 

“I make it a point not to get involved with Brotherhood business,” Hancock said defensively. “They probably got reinforcements coming, anyway.”

 

“But what if they don't?” she countered with a huff. “You're just gonna leave them here to die?”

 

“They can take care of themselves.”

 

“John!”

 

It was Scarlet's turn to be stubborn now. It may not have been her fight, and she hadn't wanted to get mixed up in it in the first place. But the frantic shouts of her fellow man were more than enough to change her mind. Now that she had seen them and what they were up against, her conscience couldn't justify abandoning them to their fate.

 

He made no further attempt to argue with her. Even so, he planted his feet, conveying with his body language that he didn't want to give in.

 

“I'm gonna go help them!” she said through her teeth. “Either come with me or get out of my way!”

 

She stepped forward, ready to push her way past him, when he let out an infuriated growl. “God damn it, Sunshine!”

 

Even through his swearing, she had to keep herself from smiling, knowing that she had successfully acquired his assistance.

 

“You go first,” he said sourly, pressing his back against the wall in order to give her enough clearance to squeak past him. “I don't want one of those bastards shootin' me by accident.”

 

“Fine. Let's go, then.” Scarlet raised her pistol to her face and flipped the safety off. Sliding past Hancock, she crept her way along the fence, keeping an eye out for an opening.

 

The man in the power armor was so preoccupied with engaging his targets that he didn't notice the pair coming up from behind them. The first indication that there was anyone else was the beam of energy that rocketed out of Scarlet's laser pistol, burning into the chest of a feral ghoul that had was close enough to seize him.

 

If he hadn't been wearing power armor, he would have visibly jumped. Instead, all Scarlet saw was the subtle rotation of his head as he regarded her presence. Quickly ascertaining that she was there to aid them, he went back to firing at the line of ferals.

 

 _“_ _Go for the legs!”_ buzzed his voice through his helmet.

 

Scarlet did her best to obey him, lowering the barrel of her pistol and firing at the rows of skeletal limbs that lurched in their direction. A scan of the battlefield revealed innumerable bodies of ferals, still alive but flailing their arms helplessly. Most of them were either missing a leg or had lost their bottom halves entirely, and they tried in vain to crawl their way towards their targets as they slowly bled out.

 

Hancock either didn't hear the man's instructions, or he didn't care. Scarlet assumed it was the latter as he ran up from behind, carelessly inserting himself into the line of fire and aiming the nose of his shotgun at their heads.

 

Each blast was followed by the shattering crunch of skulls and teeth; the spray of his weapon cut a swath through their ranks, and the two armored fighters simply stood back, aiming at the creatures on either side of him.

 

The ferals kept coming, pouring in through a hole in a makeshift wall that surrounded the station. They were fairly easy to take down, but their numbers were immense. The fight dragged on endlessly – Scarlet had to reload her pistol three times, even though her shots were consistently accurate. The man next to her wielded a laser rifle which appeared to have a much larger magazine, but even he fell back to reload at least once. Hancock only ever had four shots in his chamber, and was used to frequently reloading. Even so, Scarlet nearly panicked every time, and if it hadn't been for her suit, her pistol probably would have slipped out of her hands from the way they were sweating.

 

Just when it seemed like it would never end, the herd started to thin. The guttural roars of the ferals gradually diminished. The blasts of their weapons became further apart. Finally, when the last of the creatures had fallen at the hands of Hancock's shotgun, the three of them lowered their arms, allowing themselves a short moment's peace.

 

Despite having stood still for the duration of it, Scarlet was breathing heavily from the adrenaline rush. Hancock raised his gun and rested the barrel against his shoulder as he turned to her. “You okay?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly. Even though the threat was gone, she still held the grip of her pistol tightly. She looked to her left where her mysterious comrade was standing, waiting for him to say something.

 

He raised his rifle and slung it over his back, sliding the nose of the barrel down into its holster. He placed both of his armored hands on the side of his helmet and twisted. A hiss of air followed its release, and he pulled it over his head, revealing his face to her.

 

“Thanks for the assist, civilian.”

 

Scarlet had to check to make sure her mouth wasn't hanging open. He was startlingly handsome. He looked to be around thirty years old. His hair was jet black and styled in a neat crew cut, and his rugged jaw was cleanly shaven. Thick eyelashes framed his steel blue eyes, and his wide mouth was parted slightly as he caught his own breath. Judging by the what she could see of his face and neck, he was well-built and probably heavily muscled on top of it. Even his voice was attractive – his deep baritone was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

 

“You're welcome.” The words tumbled awkwardly out of her mouth, and she fumbled at her side to holster her weapon while she stared at him.

 

“Halen,” he shouted, turning back to the station sharply. “How's Rhys?”

 

A woman wearing what looked like a scout uniform rose to her feet, hovering at the top of the short steps in front of the doorway. “He'll make it,” she said confidently, stooping down to help the injured man next to her. He was wearing a full suit of power armor, too, all except for a helmet which was discarded on the ground beside him. She extended her arm and he grabbed it with his gloved hand, steadying his body as he rolled to his feet.

 

“Take him back inside. I'll join you once I've debriefed the outsider.”

 

Scarlet waited anxiously as he turned back to her, casting a dubious eye over her figure. The power armor she was wearing was a pre-war model, and its rusty exterior was crudely patched with steel plating. Her awkward posture, combined with the way she kept looking away from him, was enough to reveal that she was little more than a novice.

 

“I appreciate your help,” he began, tucking his helmet underneath his arm, “but what's your business here?”

 

She swallowed the dryness in her throat and tried to be concise with her answer. They were definitely a military outfit of some kind, judging by the way they behaved, not to mention the pristine condition of the man's power armor. She had ample experience with service members, mostly through her marriage, and she remembered how Nate in particular had little patience for anything other than the bare minimum.

 

“We heard fighting,” she stated. “We came over to investigate and saw that you needed a hand.”

 

 _We_.

 

He regarded the ghoul who strode up beside her, making no secret of the hostility that washed over his face. “Is this... _thing_ with you?”

 

Any shyness she had left evaporated into the chilly air, and she gaped at the man in annoyed disbelief. “Yes,” she said forcefully, suddenly looking with an intense ferocity into his eyes. “And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to know who you are.”

 

“Yes, I apologize for the oversight,” he said atonally. He seemed oblivious to her scathing glare, and barreled on with his explanation. “I'm Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. My team and I are here on a recon mission. We were trying to put up a beacon and relay our progress to our superiors when the ghouls attacked us.”

 

Scarlet nodded but said nothing, and pressed her lips firmly together.

 

“And you are?” he asked, or rather demanded.

 

“My name is Wolf,” she said tersely.

 

“Are you a citizen of the Commonwealth?”

 

“You could say that,” she said with a condescending air. “We came from a settlement just north of here.”

 

“What's your mission in Cambridge?”

 

“I'm done answering your questions,” she snapped. “If you don't need anything else, we'll be on our way.”

 

“I uh...” The Paladin looked confused by the shift in her attitude, and was caught in a rare wave of uneasiness as he struggled over what to say. “You're welcome to come inside and resupply,” he offered, doing his best to sound affable.

 

“I don't know,” she sneered. “Is my fiancee allowed to come in with me?”

 

“Your, your fia-” Danse stammered and his throat closed up, and he blinked several times at the pair in front of him.

 

Scarlet knew now why Hancock hadn't wanted to lend a hand to these people. The way this man eyed the ghoul, referred to him as subhuman, then ignored him, it was worse than the outright prejudice she had seen repeatedly up until now. At least the people who hated him acknowledged him. At least they respected him enough to fear him. At least they cared enough to insult him. Strangely, Danse's outright dismissal was more insulting than if he had shouted obscenities at the ghoul.

 

The Paladin clamped his jaw shut as he processed the situation. He had reached an understanding himself as to why this woman, who had valiantly come to his aid, now looked like she wanted to strangle him. As grateful as he was that the two of them had showed up, he couldn't suppress the way his blood rushed to his skin at the sight of the ghoul. He was tempted to shoot him when he first saw him jumping into the fight, then claim afterward that it had been an accident...

 

“That's right,” Scarlet said proudly. “But it's obvious you don't want anything to do with ghouls, even one who just saved your ass.”

 

“The Brotherhood has very strict guidelines regarding ghouls and other mutants,” he said matter-of-factly, trying not to belie his mounting irritation. “But if you require assistance, I'm willing to make an exception.”

 

“No thanks,” she said bitterly, starting to turn away from him.

 

“You got any fusion cores?”

 

Both of them turned to Hancock, who had been silent up until now. He asked the question rather bluntly, and noticeably avoided making eye contact.

 

Danse looked like he didn't want to dignify Hancock with an answer. But Scarlet glowered at him venomously, and his sense of honor overrode his hesitation. “I do,” he stated, slow and clear.

 

“Then cough 'em up, and we'll be outta your hair.”

 

Danse's jaw clicked as he ground his teeth together. The fingers of his armored hand curled into a fist, which he kept rigidly attached to his side. He purposely avoided speaking to the ghoul directly, and instead directed his response towards Scarlet. “I'll give you what we can spare. After that, I urge you and your... _companion_... to move along so that we can complete our mission.”

 

Scarlet flashed an exaggerated smile at him, emitting a short chirp of satisfaction. “Gladly.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“God damn it, I just wanna slap him in that smug fucking face of his!” She growled, throwing a pile of tinder angrily into the fire.

 

“Forget about him,” Hancock said, taking a drink from his flask. “We got three fusion cores out of the deal. Now you don't have to worry about that suit crappin' out on ya before we get to the Glowing Sea.”

 

“Who even _are_ those assholes?” she fumed, pacing around the growing flames. “What the hell are they doing out here?”

 

“Fuck if I know,” Hancock said with a shrug. He took one more drink before screwing on the cap and slipping it back into his pocket. He leaned against the crumbling brick wall behind him, which was slowly warming with the radiating heat of the fire. “Their MO is usually killing anything that's not human, including yours truly. I'm surprised I made it out of there alive.”

 

“I just... argh!” She threw her hands down and turned away from the fire, her hot breath crystallizing in the nighttime air. “ _Why?_ What possible benefit does _anyone_ have by going after you, just because you look different?”

 

Even though she was boiling with anger, he chortled softly at her protectiveness. “We've been over this before, Sunshine,” he said patiently. “It's safer and easier to believe what you're told. It's better to be afraid of shit you don't know, especially out here.”

 

Scarlet sighed in resignation before turning her face back to the fire. “They seemed like they had a lot of fancy tech,” she said quietly.

 

“Yeah they do,” he said with an enthusiastic nod. He pulled two cigarettes from his breast pocket and lit them, then held one out to her. “In fact, if they're not out here cleansing anything they don't consider pure enough, they're probably snatching up every piece of tech they can get their paws on.”

 

Scarlet let her cigarette dangle from her lips as she held her hands to the flames. “What do they want with all that stuff?” she mumbled out of the corner of her mouth.

 

“They're just hoarding it,” he spat. “Ain't no reason they need all that shit except to lord it over everyone else. It's just one big fucking power trip.”

 

“Where's their headquarters?” she asked, taking a puff of smoke.

 

“Last I heard they were set up in the Capital. There was a rival faction, the Enclave, they had to get rid of first. But now that they're gone, the Brotherhood has their run of the city. Fancy themselves the government, or the new world order, or some bullshit like that.” He paused to suck angrily on his cigarette. “I ain't surprised to see them here, to be honest. They probably got bored babysitting the Washington Monument and wanna bed down in Bunker Hill. Fuck, they'd probably love to have the Old State House.”

 

“Do they have some kind of fetish for historical sites?”

 

“Sort of. They know people get all nostalgic for that shit. Just part of their master plan to rule the world.”

 

“As long as they don't get in the way of me finding Shaun. Fucking sons of bitches...” Scarlet sighed and slumped down next to Hancock, snuggling into his side. “Fuck, it's cold!”

 

“Since when did you start swearin' so much?” he chuckled, offering her his flask.

 

“You're rubbing off on me,” she said with a bashful smile. She took a heavy swallow, grimacing as the alcohol burned its way down her throat.

 

“Fuck, I hope not!” he jibed, snaking his hand beneath her coat and hooking it around her waist. “I love how sweet and innocent you are.”

 

“Ha!” She took one more drink before returning his flask. “I think we've established that I'm not very innocent.”

 

He grinned, nuzzling his lips into her ear. “You do have a wild streak.”

 

She shuddered, more from the heat of his breath on her neck than the freezing cold. He kissed her just behind her ear and she giggled, finding that area particularly ticklish.

 

They listened to the crackling of the fire for a while. When the sun started to set a few hours ago, they had chosen the first suitable location they could find – a ruined house that was barely standing. The roof was almost completely gone, and only one wall was still present in any respectable fashion. Scarlet reminisced to something Daisy had told her about sleeping in a house with three walls missing, and laughed inwardly at the accuracy of her prediction.

 

She had shed her power armor and it stood on the other side of the house. It actually made a useful piece of furniture from which to hang their weapons. In spite of the painful interaction she had to go through to get more fusion cores, she was overwhelmed with relief to have obtained them. At least she could confidently rely on the suit to get her in and out of the Glowing Sea. Sighing, she lay her head contentedly on Hancock's shoulder and closed her eyes.

 

She tried to clear her head of the day's stress and relax. But she had noticed that since she had stopped taking med-ex, her mind was a restless maelstrom of activity. Especially at night, when all she wanted to do was turn off her brain and sleep. She didn't remember being this anxious before. It seemed like even edgier nerves were yet another side-effect she'd have to cope with.

 

 _I wish I had never taken it_ , she thought. _I wish it had never happened._ _I wish I hadn't put him through it..._

 

“John...” she whispered sadly.

 

“What is it, Sunshine?” He asked, planting a kiss on her forehead.

 

“I'm sorry about those things I said.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“When I was... getting off the med-ex.” Scarlet wormed her way underneath his coat, getting as much of his body heat as she could. “I said some pretty awful things to you.”

 

“I know it wasn't you,” he said soothingly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “It was the chems talking.”

 

“Still. I feel horrible.”

 

“Well don't,” he said, gently but firmly. “Trust me, it's gonna take a lot more than somethin' like that to get rid of me.”

 

She took another deep breath. “I did some really stupid shit.”

 

“Chems'll make you do crazy things.”

 

“Yeah, but I was _really_ dumb. I shouldn't have given Wolfgang both of those earrings. I could have kept one of them at least.”

 

“Just out of curiosity...” Hancock began, crossing his legs and sitting up a little straighter. “What would you have done if you still had one of those babies?”

 

“What you said,” she said guiltily. “I'd have given it to Preston, let him use it to trade. It would definitely be enough to feed them until the spring crops are ready.”

 

“Hmph. Good.”

 

She lifted her head up, eying him curiously. “Good?”

 

“Yeah. I'm glad you would have given it to Preston. Cause that's exactly what I did with it.”

 

Her jaw hung open, and her eyes sparkled with a pleasant sense of surprise. “Wait a second, you got it back?” she grinned.

 

“They were both on him when I searched his pockets. I gave one of them to Trudy, you know, for the inconvenience...” he said sheepishly. “Then I gave the other one to Preston before we left.”

 

“Oh my god!” she said happily, letting her head fall back against the wall. “I'm so relieved... I hated myself for leaving them without making sure they were gonna be okay.”

 

“Uh-oh,” he teased. “Looks like somebody's gettin' ready to run for mayor of Sanctuary...”

 

“What? No!” She slapped his chest playfully. “I think Preston's gonna do just fine.”

 

“With all this good you been doin', I wouldn't be surprised if the people just demanded it.”

 

She chuckled dryly and rested her head against his chest. “That's cause I got this really bossy angel on my shoulder.”

 

If he could have, he would have blushed at her compliment. _An angel, huh?_ He mused. _That's something I never thought I'd hear._

 

They settled back into a comfortable silence, the icy moonlight bathing their huddled bodies. She yawned and closed her eyes, her breaths fluttering the fabric of his shirt with each soft exhalation. He reached around her back and into his breast pocket seeking a cigarette, but he started at the touch of the solid metal band against his fingertips.

 

He sat frozen for a moment, suddenly remembering that he still had it. He looked down at Scarlet with a slight frown. He scolded himself for not having given it to her earlier. After all, he had sought it on Wolfgang's body specifically, just so she could have it back. Yet he faltered every time he had the opportunity to return it.

 

 _Am I jealous?_ He pondered. He knew he shouldn't be jealous of a dead man. The idea was ridiculous. _She didn't even really like the guy that much_ , he assured himself.

 

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he _was_ jealous. If nothing else, he was jealous of the fact that Nate had gotten to her first. He had tasted her lips before he had, made love to her before he had, gotten to meet her 200 years before him. He had married her, had a child with her, gone to parties with her, cooked meals with her, slept next to her at night, done all the things that Hancock would have given his life for.

 

And above all, he resented Nate for not appreciating what a gift Scarlet was. He had probably taken every one of those things for granted. True, they hadn't loved each other before they got married. Their coupling was a matter of propriety, more of a burden they had to shoulder in order to provide a life for their son. But still, he could have taken the time to show her his appreciation, or hold her when she was sad, or even tell her she was beautiful.

 

_How could he not love her?_

 

“John?”

 

He was staring into the fire, his arm still around her back as he stroked the golden band in his pocket. His head shook as he snapped out of his trance, and he let his arm fall back around her waist.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked, craning her neck to look up at him.

 

Hancock smiled and slid his finger beneath her chin, supporting her head as he gazed down at her. “Yeah, Sunshine. I'm alright.”

 

But the way her eyes squinted ever so slightly behind her glasses, he could tell she wasn't convinced. “You sure?” she asked amiably.   
  


“Yeah,” he repeated, propping her up to sit beside him. “There was somethin' I wanted to give you.”

 

Scarlet watched quietly as he plucked something out of his breast pocket and closed it in his fist. Then he held out his hand, palm flat, offering it to her.

 

She cocked her head to one side and stared at it curiously. Carefully, she picked it up, noting the size and shape of it, the weight of it in her fingertips.

 

“John, is this...?”

 

“I got his ring back for you,” he said, diffidently rubbing his hand around the back of his neck. “I figured you should keep it. You know, have something to remember him by.”

 

She still looked puzzled, and her eyes shifted back and forth between the ring and his eyes. “To remember Nate?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, he was your husband,” he added, trying not too sound too bitter.

 

“John... this is sweet, but...”

 

“You don't want it?”

 

“Look,” she said, running her hand along the back of his. “I've told you a million times, I only married Nate because I got pregnant.”

 

“But you had a kid with him, lived with him, spent every day with him,” he argued almost obstinately, “you had to have loved him a little bit, right?”

 

Scarlet sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I don't know,” she said, looking back down at the wedding band. “Maybe a little bit. But not in a romantic way. More like... the way you love your mom or dad, or your siblings. You love them because you're stuck with them,” she said lightly.

 

“I just don't want you to feel like you have to forget about him just cause he's gone, or just cause you're with me...” he said somberly.

 

“I don't need Nate's wedding band to remember him,” she said with a kind smile. “I'll always have Shaun. That's all I need. Honestly, the only thing I really loved about him was that he gave me my child. Honestly, if I could keep Shaun and erase everything else, I would.”

 

“Sunshine-”

 

She put a finger to his lips to silence him. “The truth was, I was miserable. I was bitter and resentful. To be perfectly honest, I _hated_ him.” She looked up at the sky with an acidic smile. “God, I couldn't _stand_ him!” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back down. “John, it _kills_ me, knowing that I married someone who wasn't you.”

 

Her words were like a balm to his aching heart. He grabbed her by the face and directed her gaze back to his, locking with her eyes before moving in to kiss her.

 

He softly pulsed his lips over her mouth, offering the depth of his affection in every subtle motion. She let her head fall back and drunk in the taste of him, savoring the spicy sweetness of his breath. When he pulled away from her she grabbed him by the wrist, re-capturing his attention.

 

“Listen...” she started, stumbling a little over her own thoughts. “Nate is gone. All I wanna do is move forward.”

 

Hancock's forehead wrinkled inquisitively. “So, what do you wanna do with it? Sell it?”

 

“I'll give it to Shaun when he's old enough, so he can have something of his dad's.” She tucked the band into a small pocket on her vest and zipped it securely. “As far as I'm concerned, it belongs to him now.”

 

He nodded, finding the idea more than appropriate. It was perfect, in fact. Truthfully, he had hoped she wouldn't want it. He knew that his possessiveness was absurd, but despite his own common sense, he needed her to say it to him. That he was her one and only. That he was the only one who had ever truly conquered her heart.

 

He had done his duty by bringing the ring back to her. But now, knowing that she had truly let him go, he could finally let him go, too.


End file.
